Chapter Nine
Anastasia stumbled back in shock until her knees hit the stone bench, and she sat down forcefully.
She could not believe what she was hearing.
It had been bad enough knowing that her brother had arranged a match between her and Baron Brett without even caring what she thought.
And then to be discovered with Lord Walsham, and it be assumed that something had happened…
But this…this was something else. Her brother seemed to be, in essence, selling her to the baron…or that had been his plan.
And now the viscount was saying he would marry her. It was hard to fully comprehend the words coming out of his mouth.
“Oh, you will marry her,” the duchess said, looking very pleased with herself. “I am pleased to hear it. It is the right thing to be done.”
“Miss Carrington was already betrothed,” Oliver said desperately, and in the recesses of her panicked mind, Anastasia found herself wondering why the betrothal was so essential to him.
“I have seen nothing official,” the duchess said coldly. “Miss Carrington, were you betrothed to this man?”
Anastasia shook her head. It seemed that one way or another she would end up betrothed by the end of this evening—and she could not marry Baron Brett. It was not just his age, but something about him that made her ever so uneasy.
“Well, there we go then. No one is ruined, and we shall have a wedding to end the Season.” She clapped her hands together. “I think this has all turned out rather marvelously, if I do say so myself. Come now, ladies. And you, Lord Brett. Let us leave the Carringtons and Lord Walsham.”
Anastasia picked up the viscount’s jacket from where it had fallen on the ground but it did not seem capable of stopping her shivering, as the duchess, her companions, and the vile Baron Brett left the clearing.
And so she was left alone with the two men who, it seemed, would change her life forever—her brother, who had seemingly been willing to sell her to a man she despised, and Lord Walsham, whom she barely knew and would apparently be marrying.
She didn’t have it in her to feel sorry for him, for the fact that he had been maneuvered into this marriage just as much as she had.
For, of course, she knew that he had only been trying to comfort her, that nothing truly inappropriate had happened—but if they didn’t believe him, they certainly weren’t going to believe her.
Her thoughts were consumed with the enormity of what had just happened, and with the revelation of her brother’s betrayal.
Oliver and Lord Walsham were facing each other, and she realized then how small her brother looked, how insecure, compared to the imposing figure of Lord Walsham.
For some reason, that realization satisfied her immensely.
“You have ruined my—” Oliver began, before the viscount smoothly interrupted.
“I can assure you I have not ruined your sister. But I understand that by being seen here with me today, her reputation has been compromised, and so I will marry her. You do not need to worry on that score.”
Oliver gave her a scathing look, and then turned back to the viscount. “She has no dowry.”
*
Was the man trying to give reasons for Laurence to back out? It seemed an odd thing to do in the situation. Laurence did not care that she did not have a dowry. He was not in need of any more money. He was in need of a wife—and this one had rather been dropped into his lap.
He had planned to make his selection with a little more thought, but the truth was that he had intended to marry this Season in order to fulfill his promise to his father—and he was certainly not going to allow Miss Carrington’s reputation to be destroyed while he went off to find another wife.
No, that was not the man he was. And since he had not intended to marry for love anyway, it did not seem to matter too much that he had not planned to become betrothed to Miss Carrington. She seemed pleasant, and she was certainly attractive—what more did he need?
*
The carriage journey home was not a comfortable one. Oliver simply glared at her, stared out of the window, and wrung his hands. Anastasia felt in turns too angry, and too shocked, to say anything to him. How could her own brother be willing to sell her—and to a man like Baron Brett?
And how was she now betrothed to Lord Walsham?
“You’ve ruined everything,” Oliver said once the butler had closed the front door. He didn’t even wait for them to be alone. He had obviously been stewing over this for the entire carriage ride.
Anastasia didn’t know whether to scream or cry. How dare he accuse her of ruining everything after what he had done?
“You were going to make me marry that man. He is old enough to be my father—my grandfather! He doesn’t want me; he just wants a young, biddable wife. Why, Oliver? Why would you do that to me? How could you do that to me?”
He had the grace to at least look a little embarrassed, his eyes shifting away from hers, his fingers squirming into fists as if he did not know what to do with them.
“And how am I to pay him now?” he asked, pacing the corridor. The butler had disappeared, clearly sensing that this was not a conversation he ought to be overhearing. Anastasia was still wearing her cloak, and they had not even made it past the drafty hallway.
Anastasia frowned. “Pay him what? I don’t understand, Oliver.”
“I owe Baron Brett money. A great deal of money, if truth be told. And now…”
The blood ran cold in Anastasia’s veins.
When she had thought he was selling her off to the highest bidder, she had not literally thought that she was the payment for a debt.
And apparently, she was. Nothing more than a promissory note, or a pile of gold coins, shoved across a table in order to fulfill a gambling debt.
“But he was willing to take me in payment,” she said coldly. “Oh, Oliver. How could you?”
“You have no idea how hard it is to be the head of the family, to make sure the accounts balance, to look after you, to pay the staff. No idea at all. So don’t you dare ask me how I could.
I arranged a perfectly respectable marriage for you—and you ruined it, with your light-skirted ways.
I never thought you could act so immorally, but I guess I was wrong. ”
“How can you lecture me on immorality when you were willing to use your own sister in payment of a debt—a debt you accrued through gambling away your inheritance?” Anastasia shouted back, no longer able to keep a lid on her emotions.
She did not feel the need to correct his assumptions about her liaison with Lord Walsham.
What was the point? They were to be wed anyway—and if she had to marry now, without the benefit of a love match, then Lord Walsham was certainly a far more attractive prospect than Baron Brett.
“Hold your tongue,” Oliver said, his eyes narrowing as he took a step toward her.
“You are a woman, and therefore you know nothing of my affairs, or the position of responsibility I am in. You have ruined a perfectly good plan. All we can be grateful for is that Lord Walsham was willing to do the right thing. Without me needing to call him out.”
If such a situation had occurred, Anastasia could not imagine her scrawny brother standing a chance against the tall, statuesque Lord Walsham—but she certainly didn’t voice this thought.
“Yes,” Oliver continued, seemingly more to himself than to her.
“You will be a viscountess soon. Well, that certainly brings power and money.” He looked her dead in the eye.
“You can fix this mess that you created once you’ve married him.
Your new husband certainly has enough money to not miss some. ”
*
Laurence headed straight for his study when he returned home and poured himself a large glass of brandy before taking a seat behind the oak desk.
This room always made him think of his father. It was his father whom Laurence pictured in the solid wooden chair which he now occupied.
But it was his chair now. His home. His title. And now he would fulfill his last promise to his father, by taking a wife—and, hopefully, siring multiple heirs.
He felt surprisingly calm about the prospect.
It was not how he had intended for things to pan out, but it certainly wasn’t the worst outcome.
He simply needed to get things in order.
He would need to procure a special license, in order to avoid any further damage to Miss Carrington’s name.
Why, in the three weeks it would take for the banns to be read, who knew what gossip the Duchess of Tewkesbury and her companions might spread?
They were bored widows, and weaving intricate tales about the society they inhabited was their greatest form of joy.
Now that it had been decided that they were to marry, he thought they should do so as quickly as possible.
He hoped Miss Carrington would be in agreement; he presumed she would, since it was her reputation he was concerned with defending.
And besides, he rather thought she might be keen to get away from her brother—a man who had clearly been willing to marry her off for his own benefit, with no thought to her happiness.
He could be a better husband than Baron Brett, that was for certain.
He had never planned to follow his heart into some wild love match; and while he might have picked a little more prudently, Miss Carrington was not an inappropriate choice to be his viscountess.
Surely they could forge a happy life together, even if it was born of a scandal that had never really existed.