Authors: Samantha Garman
Fitzgerald beamed and placed his hands on his rotund mid-section. “Thank you. She costs a small fortune to employ, but as you can see we dine well.”
The two gentlemen sat in companionable silence before Fitzgerald broached the subject every father had the right to ask of his daughter’s suitors.
“What are your intentions?” Fitzgerald’s eyes were busy as they assessed Beaufort’s passive face.
“I believe Miss Emily possesses many fine qualities that would be suitable in a wife,” he said noncommittally.
“
Your
wife?” Fitzgerald pointedly asked.
Beaufort shrugged. “Perhaps. I would like to spend more time with her to see if we would be well matched.”
“I want my Emily to be at the pinnacle of society,” Fitzgerald said bluntly. “You cannot offer her that kind of status as a mere lieutenant.”
“May I speak frankly?” Beaufort asked. “I am in the process of rectifying my relationship with the Marquess of Westonshire, my grandfather. He wishes to make me his heir.” Beaufort was surprised that lightening did not strike him for his boldfaced lie. He had no intention of seeking out his grandfather.
“It is no secret that you detest him,” Fitzgerald said. “What has changed your mind?”
“I have no desire for the title myself, but if I was to marry a deserving young lady…” He trailed off, casting his possible title like bait on a fishing rod. Fitzgerald swallowed the hook instantly.
“I am glad to hear it, Beaufort. My Emily deserves the best, and you have my blessing to court her.”
“Thank you, Lord Fitzgerald. May I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“Was your daughter engaged to the Earl of Stanton?” Beaufort queried candidly.
“They were betrothed. However, it did not last long and no dowry exchanged hands. The Earl and my daughter agreed they did not suit each other well. Both parties thought it best to look elsewhere for marriage,” Fitzgerald said tactfully.
Beaufort inwardly gave a sigh of relief. Fitzgerald was a gentleman, and Beaufort knew that if there was any talk of his daughter linked to the Earl, Fitzgerald would make sure neither family’s reputation would be damaged.
“Excellent. I would hate to think there is any ill will between the two. The Earl and I are acquaintances. It would have been unpleasant to deal with such a situation, but not entirely insurmountable. My cousin Langley is close to the Earl, and every so often I do find myself in Stanton’s company.”
Fitzgerald nodded. “I understand. However, I thought you and the Earl were more than just mere acquaintances.”
“I have dined with the Earl a few times, but being a lieutenant in His Majesty’s army keeps me occupied on different parts of the continent throughout the year. Langley is a good host, and tries to make sure I have enough distraction wagering and drinking at White’s with some of his closer friends. From time to time I wind up in the presence of the Earl, but we are not close.”
“You have allayed all my fears as a father. You are a true gentleman, sir.”
Beaufort grinned wryly. “And soon I will be titled.”
“A toast then.”
“A toast,” Beaufort echoed.
“To the future Marquess of Westonshire.”
“To your daughter.” Beaufort took a sip of port, trying not to choke. He did not know how long he would have to play this game. What if Langley and Stanton made him become engaged to the girl?
Willow would never speak to him again, that was for sure.
***
Long after Beaufort left and the house was settled, Emily snuck downstairs to the kitchen. Cartwright was sitting at an old, scarred table in the kitchen having his customary drink of sherry and reading the newspaper.
“What did you learn, Cartwright?” Emily asked softly.
Cartwright put down his paper, looked at her and smiled. “It seems Lieutenant Beaufort is wondering if you two will be well-matched enough to marry.”
Emily bit her lip, pondered the news for a moment and then asked, “Did he say anything about his grandfather?”
Cartwright’s eyes were steady as he said, “He is mending his relationship with the old man.”
She nodded slowly and stood in silence. She would prefer to be a marchioness than a countess, and the handsome lieutenant was more agreeable than the Earl of Stanton. Beaufort already adored her, clearly. And he was plentiful with his compliments. Why should she waste any more time and thought on the boorish earl, who barely seemed to look at her when he had been in her presence?
“Excellent. Anything else?” Emily pressed.
Cartwright took his time answering.
“Cartwright!” she demanded.
“Beaufort asked about your betrothal to the Earl of Stanton. Your father clarified that you were engaged but
both
parties involved decided they would be ill-suited to each other.”
It was not the truth, of course. The Earl had lost interest in her all in thanks to that stupid little nobody, Miss Sinclair. Why was her father protecting Stanton? He had embarrassed Emily, and he deserved to pay the price.
After she returned from Paris, she had decided to find out what happened to make the Earl cry off. She knew where her father kept the key to the only locked drawer of his desk, and there she found all the information she needed to humiliate the Earl of Stanton.
She was glad she had told Cartwright to spread a rumor that her father had been the one to break the betrothal contract after he discovered the late earl’s debt. It had shown all of society that her father would not let her marry just
anyone
for the sake of a title. The rumor had saved her reputation; no one knew she had been slighted. What would they think of her if they knew she been chucked out like day old porridge for the illegitimate daughter of a duke?
Emily left the kitchen and padded her way back to her room. She crawled into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin and smiled.
As she slept, she dreamed of her wedding reception to the future Marquess of Westonshire. She twirled in her new husband’s arms and out of the corner of her eye, she caught the Earl yelling at his new bride, who had tears streaming down her face.
Chapter XV
London, England
Elizabeth, the Countess of Langley stared at her sleeping two-year-old son. He was face down with his mouth slightly open, his bottom in the air. He slept soundly, without a care in the world. How children managed to sleep in such awkward positions, she would never know.
Her husband quietly entered the nursery and stood by his wife’s side. He put his arm around her, and she leaned in close to him.
“Thank you for our son,” he whispered.
“You are welcome.”
“Would you care for another?” he teased.
“If you are so inclined.”
She turned her head for a kiss. He complied, his tongue flicking against hers. She sighed and pulled back. Taking his hand, she led him out of the nursery and down the hall to their room. Marc had already dismissed his waiting valet, and they were alone. His hands immediately went to help loosen the laces of her gown. Slowly bending his head, he kissed her sensitive nape. She pulled away so she could face him.
“You are keeping something from me,” she said quietly. “What is it, Marc?”
Her eyes gently probed his face. She did not think for a moment it was another woman. They had sworn fidelity to each other, and she trusted him implicitly.
Marc reached up to touch his wife’s cheek. “I could never hide anything from you.”
She smiled. “It was a good effort, now explain.”
Marc sighed, took her hand and led her to the bed. He sat down next to her and slowly traced the delicate bones of her hand.
“Have you heard the rumor about Stanton’s family debt?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I heard it the night of our ball, but I did not think much of it then.”
“A few months ago, Stanton was speaking with Lord Fitzgerald about marrying his daughter,” Marc said.
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. “Then the rumor is true?”
“Parts of it. Stanton was engaged to Miss Fitzgerald, but Fitzgerald did not break the betrothal when he found out about the debt.”
Elizabeth was captivated by the story. “What happened?”
“It was Stanton who decided not to go forward with the betrothal.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because the Duchess of Cavehill had a better offer.”
“The Duchess?” Elizabeth exclaimed. “What does she have to do with this?”
“The debt is from Stanton’s father. He borrowed money from the late Duke of Cavehill. Stanton inherited his title and the debt.”
“He had to repay it to the Duchess herself,” Elizabeth murmured.
“Yes, the Duchess asked Stanton to come see her. She had just sent for her two penniless and illegitimate granddaughters. The Duchess told Stanton she would wipe the debt clean if he married Ivy. To sweeten the incentive, she offered him a dowry so his wealth would be restored.”
“Good Lord!” Elizabeth breathed. “Does Ivy know?”
Marc shook his head. “No. The Duchess, Stanton and I have been trying to shield her. Stanton does not want her to think he is marrying her to forgo paying a family debt.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. “And I am guessing he does not want it known in society either.”
Marc grinned at his wife’s astuteness. “Stanton does not care if people know of his father’s debt, so long as they realize he has the means to repay it. We are trying to whisper in as many ears as possible that Stanton has paid off the debt due to some risky business ventures that were very lucrative. He is now solvent. For all interested parties, that would mean he can marry Ivy of his own free will, and not because he needs money.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Who started the rumor?”
“You are as smart as any government’s secret agent.” Marc leaned over to kiss his wife. “We cannot confirm this, but we believe it to be Miss Emily Fitzgerald.”
“How?” Elizabeth asked. “Did she know anything of Stanton’s situation?”
Marc shook his head back and forth. “She was not apprised of it.”
“Then how are you going to discover whether or not she is the cause of it?”
Marc grinned. “We sent Beaufort, disguised as an eligible suitor to visit the Fitzgeralds. We now have reason to think she is hiding behind her servants, and that they were possibly put in charge of circulating the rumor. Beaufort’s valet is helping us discover if that is indeed true.”
Marc’s hand had begun to travel up her nape to the crown of her hair. He slowly removed her hairpins, letting his wife’s luxurious brown hair fall in waves across her back.
“Stanton really does care for Ivy,” she said as Marc’s mouth trailed a stream of kisses up her arm and neck, finally resting on her lips.
“He loves her,” Marc admitted.
“Then perhaps he ought to tell her what is going on before someone else does,” she said wisely. “It is only a matter of time before she is alone and someone tells her.”
Marc made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “I do not wish to talk about this anymore. I am trying to seduce you and you are not being very receptive,” he admonished.
“I am sorry,” Elizabeth said as she gently pushed him down on the bed and climbed on top of him. “Is this better?”
“Not yet.”
She struggled out of her chemise and laid her naked body against his. “Now?”
“Getting warmer,” he said with a laugh.
***
Ivy and Willow were walking in Hyde Park, looking for a plush section of grass to set down their picnic basket. When they found an area to their liking, they spread out a large blanket and began to unpack their food.
Ivy had asked the Duchess if she would allow them some respite from normal social activities. Willow had been vacillating between anger and sadness the past few days due to Lieutenant Beaufort’s lack of attention, though she would not admit it and hid her despondency from their grandmother. Ivy thought a picnic on one of the rare sunny days in London was just the ticket to distract Willow.
“Good afternoon, Lady Baker. Lord Baker,” Ivy greeted the woman and her husband who were strolling towards them.
“It seems everyone is out and about today,” Lady Baker said.
“You are correct, my dove,” Lord Baker replied absently.
“Everyone?” Willow teased.
“Just about. We recently passed Miss Fitzgerald and Lieutenant Beaufort. They looked like they were having a lovely time of it. Beaufort is escorting her to Lord and Lady Stanhope’s masquerade this evening. Will you be in attendance?” Lady Baker chattered on, unaware that Willow had grown unusually quiet when she heard Beaufort was accompanying Miss Fitzgerald.
“Yes,” Ivy said.
“Excellent! Good day.” Lady Baker tugged on her husband’s arm and they continued on their walk.
“Willow—”
“Please, Ivy. I am fine.” Willow’s lip trembled.
“You are not! How dare he do this? How quickly the man changed his mind. I would love nothing more than to give Lieutenant Beaufort a verbal lashing he will not soon forget!”
“Not on my account, I hope,” Willow said pitifully.
Ivy sighed. “Have you decided Beaufort is the one for you?”
Willow shrugged and then nodded. “I think so. I do not know what do to! What am I going to tell Grandmother?”
“Nothing, yet. You have to land him first, and then we will break the news to her. You know, when Cy thought I was receiving undue attention from Lord Caldwell, he swooped in, angry and jealous.”
“And got himself entangled in a duel and was nearly killed in the process.”
Ivy playfully nudged her sister. “Give Beaufort some competition. Once he sees you flirting outrageously with other men, he will no longer be able to maintain his distance. Stop looking wounded. Shine, Willow. It will drive him daft and bring him back to your side.”
Willow’s blue eyes were suddenly hopeful. “Do you really think so?”
Ivy nodded. “I do, but Willow, if he does not realize how wonderful you truly are, then he does not deserve your tears.”
Willow smiled, grasped her sister’s hand and said, “Thank you.” Then she changed the subject. “Has anyone seen Caldwell?”
Ivy shook her red curls. “No. It makes Cy quite angry knowing the man is still out there on the loose. He could show up at any moment and cause more trouble.”