Excerpt from Tempting Her Viscount
April 1809
London
Being summoned to the Marquess of Penbrook’s study was never a small matter. Would her father be in a drunken rage, a sobering depression, or giddy from a streak of luck at the gaming tables?
Lady Celia Dorsett could only hope her younger brother was in the house and could help her deal with whatever waited beyond the door. As the heir, Graham was better suited to manage their father. Though neither of them had managed the man much of late. For he was quite out of control.
With a steadying breath, Celia entered the sparsely furnished room. Her father didn’t seem to care for casual comforts. Not when they could be sold for much needed funds. Forcing a smile on her lips, she felt her body tense when she found him sitting at his desk with a deep crease in his brow.
“Good afternoon, Father,” she greeted him. It was nigh on two o’clock, but it was clear he’d only recently woken. His clothes looked like they’d been picked up from the floor where he’d discarded them the night before, and he’d yet to shave.
Having let his valet go recently had proved a poor decision.
“Sit, sit,” he ordered as he straightened some documents on his desk.
Celia glanced around to find the room empty except for the two of them.
“Will Graham be joining us?” she asked, her nerves making her voice shake slightly. Her father had never harmed her—at least not physically—but he frightened her all the same.
“What? Er… I’m not sure.” He rubbed his forehead.
It appeared he was to be muddled and distraught today. She almost preferred the rage. When her father was muddled and distraught, he tended to make very bad decisions.
“I have a bit of news,” he said and propped a smile on his face. Though ragged and bleary-eyed, the marquess was a handsome man for his age of four and forty. He looked like an older version of Graham who at two and twenty frequently attracted the attention of debutantes, with no plans whatsoever to settle down.
Despite his good looks, her father often appeared harried. As if something was after him. His demons, she suspected. Drink and gambling had taken hold of him years ago. Celia barely remembered the man he once was, back when she and Graham had been small, and their mother was still alive.
But that version of her father had died with her mother, leaving them with this broken shell of a man who appeared to be in constant search of something to ease the pain, and never finding it.
It was no secret the Penbrook finances were in a poor state. For whatever reason, the marquess still managed to earn credit at the tables. She knew her father’s charm would run out eventually. At some point someone would want to collect.
She wasn’t certain what would happen then.
At that moment, Graham came in looking a bit green and unhappy. She hadn’t seen her brother in a few days. She’d warned him constantly of not falling into trouble like their father, but she couldn’t blame him for wanting to have fun with his friends during the Season.
At three and twenty, Celia had never had a season. There hadn’t been any funds. Her father might have left it at that for an excuse, but instead he’d added that he wasn’t willing to spend money on something that was bound to be unsuccessful.
Celia hadn’t minded since she preferred to stay at home with a book rather than attend social functions where she would be put on display and mocked. Still, it stung to be considered a lost cause.
“What is it, Father?” Graham asked as he slouched in the chair next to her. Like her, Gray had dark hair and eyes from their mother. She wondered if her eyes held the same wariness as her brother’s. She imagined so.
“Wonderful news,” her father said. “I’ve found someone to take Celia off my hands despite that deficiency.” He waved his hand in her direction.
That deficiencybeing a birthmark that marred her temple, the corner of her eye and the edge of her cheek. She’d never gotten a full on look at it herself with where it was, but according to her father, it was enough to frighten off any potential suitors.
Celia had thought that perhaps a man who cared for her instead of her looks might be a better option anyway, but she’d never had the opportunity to find out. Outside of Graham’s small group of friends, she’d not met many men.
Unfortunately, the birthmark was the least of her concerns at the moment.
“Take me off your hands?” she questioned, her voice barely a soft squeak.
“We already discussed this and have made other arrangements,” Graham cut in with a lethal tone to his voice. “I said I would marry the heiress you chose for me, so Celia would be spared. We had an agreement.” The last word sounded desperate.
They both knew an agreement with their father wasn’t worth the air used to speak it. His honor had been called out numerous times, though to her knowledge he’d never attended a single dual. Perhaps he’d never bothered to show up.
She reached out to her brother, putting her shaking hand over his. She didn’t know of the plan he’d mentioned, but she wasn’t surprised that Gray would willingly make such a sacrifice for her. And a sacrifice it would be since her brother had vowed never to marry.
“Yes, well, your marriage to Miss Denton is off. There was a bit of a… misunderstanding, and it would seem her father has changed his mind.” He cleared his throat and glanced at the floor—the only evidence he felt any guilt at all. But it was quickly brushed aside as he continued.
“This is better anyway. Celia needed to marry so I am no longer burdened with her expenses.” Another wave of his hand as if she was the cause of their dire financial situation. Other than food, she barely cost him a thing. She hadn’t had a new dress in years and her books came from the lending library.
To argue would be a waste of breath. Her father had moved on to another of his moods, stubbornly obstinate.
She felt a bit relieved that he did at least intend marriage. It would not have been beyond her father to trade her virtue for the right price. Anything to be able to continue on in his search for fortune at the gaming tables.
“We’ll just find another heiress for me to marry. I said I would take care of this and I shall. Celia is not to be involved.”
“There’s no time.” He became flustered which could only mean someone had called in his markers. He was now in the worst disposition of all… recklessly desperate. “Celia will marry the Earl of Hamlin at the end of the week. This is much better than finding an heiress anyway. Your sister will be a countess.”
“The Earl of Hamlin?” Graham repeated, his eyes wide in surprise. “I wasn’t aware the old earl had passed.”
“He hasn’t,” her father said, looking everywhere around the room except at them.
Celia watched as her brother stood and slammed his hand on her father’s desk. “He’s got to be close to eighty!”
“He’s only two and seventy,” her father defended as if those eight years made such a huge difference to a man of that age.
“You cannot marry Celia to a man old enough to be her grandsire.” Graham threw his hand out as if making a point, but she knew her father was past hearing reason.
“I can, and I am,” the marquess said firmly.
“Don’t I have a say in the matter? As I am the bride?” Celia spoke up, already knowing the answer, but trying to grasp onto any possibility of freedom from this fate.
Her father looked up with a sneer. “No. You have no say. You are my daughter and you’ll marry Hamlin or I’ll put you out on the street to fend for yourself.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Graham said.
“And what will you do about it? I’m the marquess. You’re but my heir. A word from me and you’ll be cut off.”
“Cut off?” Graham laughed. “From the pittance you offer?”
“That pittance is more than you deserve. If she won’t marry Hamlin, I’ll disown both of you and be done with it.”
“There has to be another way,” Celia said. She didn’t want Graham to be disowned, regardless of how sullied their name was already. “Certainly, I could find someone more appropriate.”
Her father scoffed. “You have no dowry. You’re a spinster and with that revolting mark on your face, no one will have you. Besides, Hamlin is richer than Croesus and has agreed to clear all my debt.” He frowned at her. “Now, go away. Both of you. I’ve things to do to prepare.”
Graham helped her from the room. She was grateful for his assistance since her legs were unsteady. She was to marry a man she’d never met. The fact that the Earl of Hamlin would make a deal with her father, worried her all the more. What kind of gentleman could he be to agree to such a match with a much younger woman?
“I’ll figure something out,” Gray said. “I’ll go see Miss Denton immediately and fix whatever Father has done. You won’t be forced to do this.”
She nodded and went to her room to wait, wishing neither of them were facing a fate of an unwanted marriage.
She had long given up any notion of romance or love, but still, it would have been fortunate to marry based on common interests or mutual respect. To arrange a marriage based solely on financial gain seemed despicable, despite it being the reason for many unions among the ton. It was no surprise her father didn’t even flinch at the idea.
Graham was only gone an hour and when he returned, clearly livid.
“Our father made advances on the man’s wife in their home while he was arranging the marriage of their daughter to me. I’ve never known someone so capable of ruining everything he touches so thoroughly. Neither of us would even need to marry if it weren’t for him and his gambling.” Graham turned to her. “I’m so sorry, Celia. I don’t know what else to do.”
Celia shook off the shock and fear so she could concentrate on a solution to the problem at hand. The way she saw it, she just needed to marry someone else before she could be married to Hamlin. But she only knew a few men.
Her eyes went wide and she grabbed Graham’s arm. “Perhaps one of your friends would agree to step up for me? Father would have to allow it.”
“Hale and Julian are in Scotland. It would take too long to reach them.” He scowled.
“Kit is in England. I could marry Kit instead. He’s a viscount. Perhaps Father would accept his suit.”
“Kit is a penniless viscount. Father needs Hamlin’s coin.”
Christopher Sinclair, Viscount Stormont, was only twenty—more than three years her junior—but he was a kind, young man who always had a smile for her when he visited. She’d found him attractive and funny. While they hadn’t had many conversations alone, she’d sat with Gray and Kit for several meals.
Surely having a husband a few years younger than her had to be better than having a much, much older groom. One she’d never even met.
Graham paced while Celia went to the desk in the corner of her room and pulled out a piece of paper.
“Kit and I could elope. He’s Scottish, he must have properties there where we can go. I’ll write to him and you can deliver my letter. Tell him I’ll be an excellent wife. I’ll not nag or bother him in any way. I won’t even mind if he has a mistress.”
“Celia, you deserve better than that from a husband. And he’d never consider doing such a thing. He’s much too respectable for that.” Gray rolled his eyes as if this were a bad trait to have.
“Do I deserve a man who is willing to make an alliance with our father? How disreputable must he be to have a connection with such a disgraceful man as our sire?”
Gray swallowed and gave a small nod. “Give me the letter. I’ll take it to Kit.”
Celia poured her heart out onto the page, not even caring if it sounded like begging. She was begging. Desperately.
When she was done, she sealed the letter and handed it over to her brother.
Once again, Celia sat by her window waiting for Graham to return with an answer to her problems. She was certain Kit would agree if for no other reason than he would be inclined to save a desperate woman. That was the kind of man she knew the viscount to be.
She pictured him with his blond hair and piercing green eyes. He’d spent most of his youth in England with his mother, and only finished his education in Edinburgh. Unlike Gray’s other Scottish friends, Kit had only an occasional Scottish lilt which she found appealing.
Her heart felt lighter as the minutes ticked by. Gray would return with the fortunate news, and she would leave that night. She packed a bag with her meager belongings in preparation, and set it by the door.
But like before, Graham returned with a frown. She realized she’d been wrong. Kit wasn’t to be her savior. Her fear was confirmed when Gray cleared his throat and spoke.
“I’m sorry, Celia. He won’t marry you.”