Chapter Three #2
“I’ll say there was,” Walter retorted, more confident still.
“You got two of the fellows to witness it so you could keep the old codger to his side of the bargain. In fact, they volunteered. Thought it was very funny. You said you didn’t want him legging it overnight without handing over the girl.
” He reddened further. “The young lady, I should say. Teesdale and Broughton witnessed it for you. They thought it a grand joke that you’d won yourself a…
” His voice trailed off and his face took on an even deeper shade of red.
What had he been going to say? Some impolite reference to a woman a man had no intention of marrying, no doubt, but on using for his own gratification.
Even if what she’d intended to offer had been her skills with a balance book, or at worst with a needle or as a cleaner.
The most polite term Verity could think of was “mistress,” but there were a lot worse available.
Indeed, she’d arrived this morning braced, if all else failed, to face just such an eventuality if it meant saving Papa, horrible as it would have been to her.
As Verity had no idea who Teesdale and Broughton were, this bit of Walter’s diatribe meant nothing to her, but it seemed it had a strong effect upon Lord Dunster.
His face, already a rather pasty shade of gray, paled still further.
He leaned as though in need of support upon the mantelpiece and his broad shoulders sagged. “Not Teesdale.”
Walter nodded. “Yes. Teesdale.” He paused, then added as an afterthought, “He was quite gleeful about it.”
“So, it’ll be all around Town by now,” Dunster said. “Everyone will know.”
Walter gave a shrug. “I fear you’re correct.
Maybe just those who are up and about which won’t be many, as yet.
But you know how gossip flies around Town.
This isn’t going away, Jonnie. And now I find that the lady in question is not some nobody but my own fair cousin.
” His earlier display of nerves had vanished and with it had come a more than passing resemblance to how Verity could recall Robert looking.
It was time she interrupted again, so she fixed Lord Dunster with an enquiring gaze.
“So, what is it you wish me to do, my lord, now you know the extent of your commitment? Shall I assist your estate manager in his office, or ready myself to clean the kitchen?” She smiled sweetly.
“I am yours to do with as you wish.” Let him dare.
She was on firmer ground than that which she’d arrived on.
Walter could be her knight in shining armor, and she was free to say what she wanted now.
Lord Dunster gave an exasperated shake of his head. No doubt it needed clearing. If she hadn’t so despised men who drank too much, Papa included, she might have felt sorry for him. But as with Papa, it was a self-inflicted wound, and to be despised.
Walter, however, seemed to have no such problem clearing his head.
“There’s nothing for it,” he declared, with some degree of smug satisfaction.
“You’ll have to marry the girl. I mean the young lady.
I mean Cousin Verity. It’s the only way out of this.
Everyone will know who she is by this evening, thanks to Teesdale, and I won’t have my family’s good name besmirched.
” A rather wicked grin sneaked over his visage.
“Who would have thought it, the Black Earl driven to earth by a slip of a girl.” He turned and beamed at Verity.
“Congratulations, Cousin Verity, on imminently becoming a countess.”
Verity stared at the two young men. Did they think they could decide for her in this matter?
Had neither of them thought to ask her if she was in agreement?
She was about to object to this when it occurred to her that it might be quite amusing to allow the pompous Lord Dunster, who so obviously thought so much of himself, to think he had been snared by a nobody.
For that was what the look on his face was telling her.
Let him stew a while before she decided to set him free.
Jonathan’s headache had somehow grown worse than before, if that were humanly possible.
It was not even midday, he’d not had any breakfast, he had a hangover of epic proportions, and somehow, he had just become engaged to be married.
How had that happened? Yesterday he’d been just a plain and simple rake, out for his own enjoyment to live up to his reputation above all else, and today?
He was a man staring down the barrel of a gun that would send him up the aisle whether he liked it or not. A gun in the hands of his best friend.
Bugger it, but he could think of no way out of this.
If he refused, Walter would be obliged to call him out, and one of them might end up dead.
He had no qualms about his own possible death as that might put a final end to his bad dreams, but he didn’t want to be responsible for the death of his best friend.
And on top of that, everyone would know why Walter had called him out and he’d become a pariah of the ton rather than the much-feted partner of so many lovely ladies who all seemed to find him devastatingly attractive. As they should. Because he was.
He’d have to marry this shabby, but unfortunately well-connected, girl, instead of making her his mistress, which might have been a lot more fun. Indubitably would have been, in fact.
He took another long look at her, assessing her this time not as a prospective mistress, but as a prospective wife. Two quite different things.
Beauty in a wife was not the most important thing, although it could be considered a bonus.
After all, his own father had chosen to marry a beauty, and look how that had ended.
Having a beautiful, loving wife had not caused his father to abandon a life of utter self-centered debauchery.
A life he himself had expended a lot of energy in emulating.
The ability to produce an heir, on the other hand, was important, as well as hailing from a good family, which this girl did, or he wouldn’t even be considering marriage.
Although from a rather dubious younger brother’s line.
A good thing he didn’t require a bride to bring a dowry with her, as it was clear this one would not be doing that.
He considered her body again, this time as though choosing a mare to breed from.
She was not a thin little wisp of a thing, but a young woman whose threadbare gown inadequately concealed pleasing curves.
Curves his grandmother would have referred to as ‘child-bearing hips.’ Well, that was one good thing.
And so far as he could see, she seemed robust and sensible.
No point marrying a woman given to megrims and always taking to her bed.
Healthy skin, bright eyes—so blue he nearly got himself distracted—thick hair of an attractive hue, and reasonably tall.
A strong young woman. And the niece of a viscount.
Ideal wife material, really. Or was he just trying to convince himself of this because he could see no way out of it?
She frowned. “Might I enquire whether you like what you see, my lord?” Her tone bordered on sarcastic.
Feisty too. Bedding her for a while and creating an heir would not be a chore. Already the bits of his anatomy that had been previously engaged in surveying her reactivated themselves. Yes, taking her to bed would be fun. He bestowed his best seductive smile on her. “I would be a fool not to.”
It appeared to have no effect. Not something he was used to.
“Then that’s settled,” Walter said, interrupting.
“For the sake of propriety, she’s coming home with me this morning, and I’ll be in touch with you when I’ve arranged a Common License and an appointment at the nearest church.
She can’t possibly stay here with you until that comes through.
It just won’t do.” He frowned. “Even if you did win her over a hand of cards.” Was he enjoying his friend’s discomfort?
She turned her beautiful eyes upon her cousin. “Dear Cousin Walter, I have no objection to remaining here until the ceremony can be arranged. I am sure I’m quite safe with Lord Dunster…now he knows who I am.”
Was she laughing at him again? Jonathan could feel his life spiralling around him in a most alarming fashion. He was no longer in control, and he didn’t like it one bit.
Walter certainly wasn’t laughing. His exquisite brows furrowed in anxiety.
“Oh no, no, no. Not at all the done thing, Cousin Verity. I insist on you accompanying me back to Somerton House where my mater is in residence.” He harumphed in what might have been satisfaction.
“She will bestow a pleasing air of respectability upon this marriage. Have no fear. Staying here with Jonnie wouldn’t be at all appropriate, you must know.
Not at all. No, not at all.” He gave a weak smile to Jonathan.
“I believe my young cousin has lived extensively abroad, Jonnie, so she won’t be familiar with our customs here. You must forgive her ignorance.”
Ignorance? She was indeed laughing at him.
Now he was certain. Not only had he been bullied into marriage, but the cause of it all was laughing at his discomfort.
Not, of course, that he was likely to admit that the true cause was probably himself and his propensity to drink and gamble at the same time.
Even if he knew it. Easier to blame her and her father and Walter.
If Walter hadn’t turned up when he had he could have sent her packing with her father’s debts written off.
Damn Walter for being so inopportune in his arrival.
“In fact,” Walter said with determination, oblivious to his friend’s ruminations, “I think I shall take her home now, before this becomes more serious and anyone discovers she’s been here for so long this morning.
People will say anything could have happened in the three hours she could have been alone with you, and I don’t wish to give them ammunition.
I shall put about a rumor that you are engaged to be married to my cousin through a long-standing arrangement.
That will lend much-needed propriety to this…
er…arrangement.” He ran a hand through his perfect coiffure, thereby making it stand up on end in an alarming fashion that might well have horrified his valet. “I hope.”
He held out his arm to Miss Farrington. “Come, my dear Cousin. My mater will be delighted to welcome you into our home, I’m sure.
Uncle Anthony’s long-lost daughter.” He didn’t look totally convinced of this, and Jonathan found himself wondering what Uncle Anthony had done that had led to such a long estrangement.
No doubt, if he married Miss Farrington, he would eventually find out. If she even knew herself.
With a look Jonathan couldn’t read, Miss Farrington rose to her feet and tucked her hand into Walter’s proffered arm. She curtsied. “Until we meet again, my lord.”
And they were gone.
When the door had closed behind them, Jonathan, whose legs had taken on a decided weakness, sat down in the seat Miss Farrington had just vacated and put his head into his hands.
The headache had not abated one whit. If anything, it had grown worse.
Reaching up, he rang the bell, and Trubshawe arrived, valiantly attempting to disguise an open interest in what had gone on between the three of them behind closed doors.
“Water,” Jonathan said, remembering Miss Farrington’s advice. “No, make that coffee. Strong and black. A large pot. Lots of sugar. Now.” He’d have ordered food, only he didn’t think his now churning stomach could have coped.
Trubshawe departed. Being a butler, he would never share his gossip with the other servants but keep it to himself to savor. He was probably doing a fair bit of savoring right now. Especially if he’d had his ear to the door, which Jonathan would not have put past him.
The coffee came and Trubshawe departed. Jonathan poured himself a cup, downed it, and poured a second. The coffee tasted bitter and burnt and contributed nothing to settling his stomach. Maybe water might have been a better idea. It grated on him that she was probably correct in this matter.
What he needed was to think clearly and what he wasn’t doing was just that. His head felt thick with the remains of last night’s overly liberal alcohol intake, the headache, and what had just happened to him in so short a space of time.
This was ridiculous. How could a young lady have called on him like this and ended up with him having to marry her?
He was only thirty-two, for goodness’ sake.
Too young to marry yet. He’d had no intention of doing so until he was at least forty, if then.
It was so much more fun having mistresses he could just cast aside when they became boring or demanding.
He’d had so many of them he’d lost count.
But…he couldn’t deny that Miss Farrington was a pretty little thing and he’d relish taking her to bed.
Beautiful, even, and probably more so when naked.
And it might be fun for a while, and if it wasn’t, he could send her off down to Luxborough, his country estate, so long as she was along the way to producing the required heir.
He’d hardly have to see her after that, save to plant another child, and could get on with what he’d been doing since he’d left Eton.
Namely womanizing, gambling, and in general having fun and shutting up those unquiet souls that visited his dreams. A wife would be detrimental to all that. A wife would not be fun.
Yes, he’d get her with child, and dispatch her off out of the way as soon as he grew bored with her. An excellent idea. Even Walter wouldn’t be able to fault that.