Chapter 1 #2
David’s shoulders sagged. Perhaps a marriage of convenience was the lesser evil, even if the mere thought made him want to punch a hole in the wall.
He didn’t have to live with her, after all.
Once her reputation was saved, they could part ways and live their separate lives.
Marriages in name only weren’t so unusual amongst the ton.
“I hate this,” he grumbled under his breath.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled. “I’m glad to see you’re coming around. It’s not so very much to ask, after all. It can’t be that much of a hardship to wed a beautiful young woman from a prestigious family compared to losing a brother to debtor’s prison.”
Perhaps not, but still… “This mess isn’t of my making, and yet you would make me pay for it for the rest of my life with a wife I don’t want. Isn’t there some other way to settle this? Surely, we can come to some arrangement.”
She cocked her head. “It’s not fair, I’ll grant you. But I’m a businesswoman, and when I see an opportunity, I make the most of it. Curse me all you like inside that handsome head of yours, but this is the deal I’m offering, my lord. Take it, or your brother pays the price. It’s very simple.”
A mere week ago, life had seemed so straightforward. He and Timothy were planning a trip to Bath to visit their favorite little cousins. His mood had been positively festive, at least for him. Curse Charles for ruining it all!
“I have a modest estate in Northumberland where I could put the woman. I suppose I never need to see her after the wedding.”
Black silk whispered as she shifted. “Ah. Well. I did leave out one small detail. You’ll need to keep her with you for at least three months to let the scandal die down. Her father insisted on that condition.”
“Her father, the duke.” Which of the thirty or so dusty codgers from the House of Lords was he? David didn’t relish the thought of crossing a duke, but staying with the woman was out of the question.
“Her father, the Duke of Wellington.”
David nearly fell out of his chair. “I’m sorry. You want me to marry General Wellington’s daughter?” He’d served under the man fighting Napoleon. No one disobeyed an order from his grace unless they wanted to court utter ruin.
“I do indeed.”
“Lady Clarissa, isn’t it?” His voice came out as a rasp.
A riot of red curls and the bright scent of lemon and bergamot flashed through his mind, as he recalled catching her when she tripped on the stairs at the Carringtons’ musicale last year.
She’d called him her “knight in shining armor”.
He’d handed her off to others as quickly as possible and escaped the event, not wanting her or anyone else to draw any unwanted conclusions from the encounter.
Everyone knew how protective the duke was of her, and David had had no intention of inviting his ire.
Though, truth be told, he’d had some rather heated dreams in the aftermath, not that he ever intended to admit that to anyone.
“You know her, then?”
“A little.” A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead.
This had gotten entirely out of hand. The last thing he needed was to find himself married to a wayward young lady whose father would have him drawn and quartered for the least offense—like, say, abandoning her in a country estate mere months after wedding her.
“We’ve met socially a few times but have never spoken more than a few sentences to each other. ”
“That’s easily remedied. She’ll be here shortly. I told her to come at four.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s tone of voice was positively smug.
David dragged his reluctant gaze to the ormolu clock above the mantle. The minute hand stood at five to the hour, the tick of its pendulum sounding like a death knell in his ears. He gulped. “But…but…”
“But what, my lord?”
“Her father knows she’s engaged your services? He’s agreed to this?”
“You think I would cross the Duke of Wellington? I’m not a fool. The lady secured his blessing before coming to me. You have nothing to fear from him, provided you play your part without complaint.”
David had a great many complaints. They filled his head in a tumbling tumult each tripping over the other to make it to his tongue.
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Mrs. Dove-Lyon rose with a swish of black silk. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go greet her. Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Hell and damnation! There had to be a way out. What if he made a run for it?
No, he’d seen her guards. He wouldn’t make it to the stairs, let alone out the door. And he had Timothy to think of, not to mention his lout of a brother.
If he had to do this, then he’d make certain not to repeat the mistakes of the past. He would treat her with respect, keep his distance, and make certain his heart never got involved in what should be a strictly practical arrangement.
His mistake with Laura had been letting himself fall in love.
But, fortunately, she had cured him of all romance.
Lady Clarissa couldn’t touch his heart when it was already cold and dead. In the years since Laura’s death, that organ had petrified. Nothing could pierce it. Well, perhaps Timothy. And on this occasion, Charles. But to everyone else, his heart was hard as granite.
Footsteps sounded outside the door, and David braced himself for battle. He’d faced down death at the end of a bayonet with less trepidation, but he would show no weakness. I have a heart of stone. This woman cannot break it. I am safe.
The doorknob turned, and all he could do was pray that his words were true.