Chapter Twenty-Seven
On Friday morning, Trentham found himself once more cooling his heels in the Barringtons’ receiving room.
The housemaids had apparently gotten around to dusting, but there remained a faint odor of must and decay.
He felt a twinge of unease. Of guilt. Certainly someone else would come along to marry the daughter and keep her from impoverishment.
She was young. Her parents were not at death’s door. There was time.
He rehearsed again, in his head, the words he meant to say. Lady Elizabeth, although I admire you greatly, it is evident, I’m sure to us both, that we do not suit one another.
He shouldn’t have taken things this far.
Yet mixed in with his regret was a strong impatience to have it over with.
He’d wished he’d come yesterday. Then he could have returned, conscience clear, to propose properly to Miss Delancey.
But the world didn’t stop turning so that he could sort out his love life.
He’d had an appointment with his man of business about estate matters that it would have been neglectful to postpone, and then he had to sit through an unbearable committee meeting with several of his Conservative fellows, blathering about taxes and Poor Laws—wealthy men all, begrudging children a spoonful of gruel.
He really needed to defect to Lynch’s party.
And then he’d supped with Eli and heard his report, all of which was bad news.
Sir George’s victims were frightened. The trial would be ugly.
Heavy footsteps, heavier than the butler’s, sounded in the hall. Then the door swung open. It was the marquess. Damn.
“Barrington,” Trentham said with a nod. He’d rather pay Lady Elizabeth the courtesy of an explanation, but it appeared he was going to have to withdraw his suit by speaking to her father, who would no doubt boot him from the house forthwith, before he could apologize to the girl.
The man stepped in and shut the door. “Right.” He glowered. “I am appalled. Utterly appalled. Don’t think you can play me and mine for fools.”
Trentham suppressed a wince. There were any number of things the marquess might wish to take issue with—but the most likely cause for his spleen was the rumor about Felicity.
He stalled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Barrington’s beady eyes practically glowed red. “I was warned you were immoral, but I’d hoped for better. Yet you were witnessed squiring that American chit about the park!”
Trentham started. A carriage ride? Unless the marquess had been listening in, taking a lady for a ride in the park seemed a rather low rung on the ladder of his indiscretions.
Still, he wasn’t about to deny the truth.
Yes, he’d gone to the park with Miss Delancey.
He was in love with her, damn it. Let the marquess throw him out and be done.
“A pretty bit of muslin,” Barrington continued, snarling. “But if you must take a mistress, you should have the decency to be discreet!”
Mistress? He tasted gall. “How dare you malign Miss Delancey—”
“Enough! Elizabeth is in the parlor. You’ll have your fun with your common piece, I’m sure, but it’s about time you did your duty also.”
“My duty?” Surely, Barrington wasn’t saying he should propose now. The man had just accused him of gallivanting about with a mistress!
“You’ve toyed with my daughter’s affections long enough. She is prepared to answer you in the affirmative.” He puffed out his chest. “Our solicitors can work out the provisions, but I’m sure you’re aware that my expectations are great. Given the situation, I don’t expect you to quibble.”
Pah! The marquess disgusted him. “You’re saying you want to sell your child to me? Even though you fully expect me to treat her badly?”
Barrington stomped closer. A short fellow, his eyes came up no further than Trentham’s chin, but there was menace in his swagger. He jabbed Trentham’s shoulder with his finger. “You asked to pay court to my daughter.”
“I did. But she and I have discovered over the course of these weeks that we are ill-suited for marriage—”
“Balderdash!” Barrington took a step back. “She knows her duty to her family.” His face hardened. “While your father is rolling over in his grave. His heir is a rogue and his daughter, no better than she should be.”
Through gritted teeth, he said, “Lady Townes is—”
“Is soon to be exposed as an adulteress. Therefore, I think a quick, quiet wedding will better serve Elizabeth.”
“Better still for us not to marry at all!” How could he possibly wed her? How could he even stand here discussing marriage to the girl?
Derry was right: they had to move fast. They would clear Felicity’s name.
Eli was meeting with the lawyer this morning.
Trentham prayed they could put together a case that the judge would not dismiss out of hand, built, as it would be, on the testimony of servants, shopgirls, and entertainers. So much could still go wrong.
“But my sister is innocent!” he blurted.
Barrington sneered. “Of course, you’d say that. But your word carries no weight.” He curled his hand and rubbed his knuckles against the silk lapel of his jacket. “Lady Townes will lose all rights to her children. The girl, especially, should not be exposed to such wanton—”
“Bloody hell! Sir George has no proof!”
“Proof enough.” Words slipped from Barrington’s smug mouth as though coated with oil. “You see, my name does carry weight.”
Trentham stared, while a crushing premonition of defeat fell upon him. If Barrington had influence over the Divorce Court, it wouldn’t matter who filed suit first. They would deny Felicity a divorce, but grant one to Sir George, on his terms.
“You can’t mean you would allow a respectable lady to be destroyed. And surely you wouldn’t force your daughter into a marriage she doesn’t want.”
“My daughter’s mare was precious to her. I sold it yesterday. I had no choice. Trust me; Elizabeth understands what it means to have no choice.” He moved to the door and opened it. “And I suspect you now understand this as well.”
*
Trentham plodded behind the footman who led him to the Barringtons’ parlor, where Lady Elizabeth awaited him. Oh, God. Felicity. He’d promised her he could be relied upon. He couldn’t betray her to save himself.
He should never have taken Ophelia for that carriage ride, spoken to her of love. Prematurely. That was unforgivable.
“His Grace, the Duke of Trentham,” the fellow announced.
Lady Barrington smoothed the front of her dress and beckoned him in. Lady Elizabeth was seated on the davenport, pale and rigid.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Lady Barrington said, then swished past him and out the door, which she left ajar, as if her daughter needed protection from ravishment. Insult added to injury.
Trentham went to Lady Elizabeth. Going down on his knee before her would be ludicrous. Instead, he towered over her.
“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” He spoke in an expressionless monotone.
She raised her eyes to him, eyes that were glassy and red-rimmed. It pained him to see her misery. He’d caused it. Approaching her at her coming-out ball had been a mistake from the very first.
“Lady Elizabeth, I know this isn’t what you want—”
“I hate you! I’ll always hate you!”
She was so ridiculously young. He softened his voice. “I won’t mistreat you. Here, I’ll buy back your mare.” He was speaking to her as if she were Julia’s age, or Foster’s, a child he could easily distract with presents.
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “I know you don’t care for me.”
Barrington hadn’t told her. She didn’t know he was being blackmailed. “I—I thought it was time to unite the Trentham line with the Barringtons’. A union long overdue.”
She scowled. “That’s stupid.”
This wasn’t her fault.
“I’ll agree it was ill-conceived. But now I need a yes or a no, Elizabeth.”
She heaved three deep angry breaths. “Yes.” Then she burst into tears.
*
“He had me over a barrel,” Trentham said, rolling his empty gin glass between his palms. He’d been too disgusted with himself, making his explanation to Eli, to finish supper.
So they’d removed to his study, where they’d cracked open a bottle, then sank into facing chairs.
Trentham eyed the water stain on the ebony desk and resolved not to bother setting his glass down, ever again.
“The blackguard.” Eli shook his head, topped off his own glass, then refilled Trentham’s. “But you can’t marry the chit.”
“How am I to get out of it?” When Eli gave no answer, he muttered, “Our solicitors are meeting tomorrow. The marquess is in a rush.”
“Creditors are hounding him.” Eli bobbed his head curtly, as if he knew what it was like to stand in those shoes. “I expect it will cost you a fortune. Barrington must be even deeper in dun territory than we thought.”
“I don’t care about the money.” He harumphed, then took another swig. “Besides, Cavanaugh is sharp.”
“Cavanaugh?”
“My solicitor. I’m collecting them like fleas. If Barrington’s man pushes for too much, Cavanaugh will threaten to drop the whole thing.”
“You won’t get out of it that way. Barrington’s fellow will fold. He’ll take what he can.” Eli sniffed. “And you know you’ll be generous, regardless.”
Trentham shrugged. “I’m stuck with her, Eli. For the rest of my damned life.” He grimaced as a new thought struck him. “Don’t tell Felicity. Don’t tell anyone who might tell Felicity. I don’t want her to think she’s responsible.”
“Of course not.” Eli scratched his scalp. “Is there any guarantee that Barrington will apply pressure in support of Lady Townes’ suit?”
“No. He doesn’t even know about it. Frankly, I think he’d find it more horrifying that a woman would dare lay accusations against her husband than that she’d take a lover. I don’t want his crooked favors. I only want his vow to not meddle. That, he did give. With a holier-than-thou smirk.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, staring at opposite walls.
Then Trentham said, “I haven’t even asked you how the meeting went with Derry.”
Eli buried his nose in his glass and sipped. He emerged frowning.
Trentham groaned. “That badly?”
“He was not particularly impressed with my list. He said he’d been given to understand that there might be a few wives of peers—”
“They won’t come forward.” They wouldn’t dare.
“They could be subpoenaed.”
“And imagine what that would do to my standing, if I were to drag ladies into this mess. On top of what they must already have suffered at Sir George’s hands.”
Eli slapped his drink down on a side table, stood abruptly, and stepped away. Trentham stared after him. Bloody hell. His heart sank.
“You must think me a black-hearted fiend.”
“You’re a peer.” Eli returned to him, grimacing.
“Robin, you know I’ll do anything for you and your sister.
But I’ve been face to face with some of these women and they’re terrified.
Not only of Sir George, but of their husbands, families…
they have their own standing to worry about.
And their ruin will be a good deal less comfortable than yours or Lady Townes’ would be. ”
Trentham turned this over in his mind, but saw no solution. “I hate it too. But it’s Sir George’s fault, not mine. And Felicity is my first concern.”
“Of course.”
Trentham set his glass down on the carpet, then rose to pace.
Gin was beginning to work its magic. But no more of it, or he’d feel even worse when the effect wore off.
“I suppose I should go to Lynch’s and break the news of my betrothal.
” He couldn’t imagine how he was going to tell Miss Delancey, but it must come from him.
“Hmm. Tonight?”
“It isn’t that late, is it?” He twisted around to look for the clock. Not quite nine.
Eli cocked his head. “Are you not aware that Mr. Delancey is arriving in London tonight?”
“Their father? They never said…”
“Evidently it was something of a surprise. The household is all aflutter. Maybe you should wait until tomorrow. Don’t ruin the reunion with news they won’t want to hear.”
Blast it. By rights, he should be asking the man for permission to court his daughter. Instead, he’d be breaking her heart under his nose.
Or was that just his conceit? His heart was breaking. That didn’t mean hers would be. But how was he to tell her he was marrying Lady Elizabeth after what he’d said to her in his carriage?
As he stared dully past Eli, he was alerted to his butler’s presence. Henson stood in the doorway clearing his throat, holding a silver tray with an envelope upon it.
“What is it?” He waved him in.
“A messenger delivered this just now. I’m to understand it is important. He is awaiting a response.”
Trentham picked up the envelope. “From Derry.” He opened it.
Your Grace, it has come to my attention that there may be another avenue to explore in regards to Lady Townes’ suit. May I call upon you tomorrow at your convenience to discuss?
Trentham moved to the desk for paper and pen, then scribbled, I will see you at eleven. He folded the paper and set it on the tray. “Give him this.”
Henson nodded and left the room. Eli raised his eyebrows. “Good news or bad?”
“I don’t know. Good, I hope. I can’t envision anything worse than what we already know.”