A Belated Bride (33 page)

Clearing his throat, he turned to Emma. “Lady Durham, this is my sister, Miss Devereaux. Liza, this is—”

“Oh, call me Aunt Emma! Everyone does. And of course you are welcome to stay at Rosemont, my dear. You must be famished after such a trip.” She glanced around, her gaze falling on Hastings. “Oh, Hastings! Could you ask Mrs. Guinver to bring a tray with some tea and cakes to the morning room?”

The valet bowed. “Shall I have some of the marmalade brought as well?”

“No,” said Emma with a thoughtful frown. “But you can ask what rooms are available for our guest.” She waved a vague hand. “I’m sure something is ready.”

“Of course,” said Hastings, not betraying by so much as a quiver that he thought something far otherwise.

Liza smoothed a nervous hand down her dress. “I really do not mean to impose. Perhaps I should find lodg- ings elsewhere.”

“Nonsense! Rosemont is renowned for its hospitality.

We could not allow you to stay anywhere but here.” “You are much too kind.”

Emma waved a cheerful hand and smiled, her eyes huge behind her spectacles. “I’m sure it is no wonder you wish to stay, my dear, what with the wedding and all. We’ve much to plan, you know. Food, greenery for the mantel places, invitations to write—”

“Pardon me,” Liza asked politely, “but whose wed- ding is it?”

Emma blinked. “Why, I suppose you don’t know yet. How delightful! Your brother is to marry my niece, Miss Arabella Hadley.” She took Liza’s limp hand and patted it. “You will just love her. Everyone does.”

“My . . . my brother is to marry? Surely you are mis- taken.”

“Oh, no!” said Aunt Emma. She looked at Lucien. “Am I not right, Your Grace? Aren’t you to marry my niece?”

He nodded once, his face grim.

Liza swallowed. “B-but you never said a word . . . you never wrote or—”

“I didn’t have time.”

“Oh, yes,” Emma said, a vague smile on her plump face. “You see, we only just found out they were to be married this morning, when we walked in on them while they were—”

“I don’t think my sister needs to know all of the details,” Lucien said firmly. He sent a brief glance at Liza, his face suspiciously red. “I suppose it is a good thing you arrived when you did. At least you will be here for the cer- emony.”

“You are getting married before Christmas?” “Tomorrow, if I can arrange it.”

“But—”

“We’ll discuss it later,” he said, glancing meaningfully at Emma. “In the meantime, I had best get the rest of your trunks.”

Before she could protest, he left. Liza’s fingers curled into her palms. It all became very clear to her. Somehow, some way, Arabella Hadley had tricked her brother into marriage. No wonder he’d been so upset on finding her on his doorstep. He was a proud man and he would not wish for anyone to witness the indignity of his marriage to such an odious schemer.

Liza’s heart swelled with righteous anger. “Where is Miss Hadley? I would like to meet her.”

“Oh, she will be down soon. Mrs. Guinver is drawing a bath for her right now.” Lady Durham took Liza’s hand in hers and inexorably led her to the morning room. “Come and have a bit of tea while we are waiting for your room to be readied, and tell me all about your trip here.”

Left without any recourse, Liza followed. Much later, refreshed after a plate of cold meat, bread and butter, and some of Mrs. Guinver’s special restorative tea, Liza stood at the window of her bedchamber. Aunt Emma was as talkative as she was naive, and it had taken very little to discover the full circumstances of Lucien’s wedding. Liza scowled, thinking of all the times her brother had warned her against the attentions of men who might be interested only in her fortune. Now some brazen harpy had come along and neatly tricked him into the very same trap.

Liza sniffed. It was a good thing she had come to Rose- mont when she did. She would find Miss Hadley and see for herself what kind of a woman would behave so dis- honorably.

Girded in righteous anger, Liza sailed from her room and down the steps. The door to the morning room was closed, but the low murmur of voices escaped through the wood panel. She hesitated, one hand ready to knock, won- dering if she dared burst in. But the thought that the occu- pants might be someone other than Lucien and the unscrupulous Miss Hadley stayed her hand.

Just as she turned to retreat to the stairs, a sliver of light from beneath a tall door down the hallway caught her attention.

She quietly tiptoed over and listened, but no sounds came from within. Curious, she opened the door and came

to a sudden halt. A man sat in a wheeled chair by the fire- place, a huge tome in his hands.

Liza cleared her throat. “Pardon me. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”

The man turned his head and she saw he was much younger than she’d at first thought. His hair was a true chestnut, dark brown with red lights, and curled over his forehead, showing signs of needing a cut. Had he dark eyes instead of silver-gray, he would have looked exactly the way she always pictured one of Byron’s tortured heroes.

She dipped a curtsy. “How do you do? I am Miss—” “I know who you are,” he said unpleasantly. “You are

Wexford’s sister.”

While Liza was not one to be immersed in her own self-worth, it was unusual to meet someone so patently unimpressed with her title. Worse, he continued to stare at her in a bold, rude manner, looking her up and down as if she were a horse.

Liza’s temper flared. “Well, you know me, but I don’t know you,” she said ungraciously.

“I am Robert Hadley. This is my house you are stand- ing in.” Then, apparently thinking his discourteous intro- duction sufficient, and deeming her of no more interest, he turned back to his volume and ignored her.

Liza didn’t know what to think. She had never been spoiled or used to getting her own way at every turn, but she had been brought up by an aunt who clearly believed that the world owed some deference to the prestigious Wexford name.

Gathering her scattered courage, Liza stepped forward. “I understand that your sister has entrapped my brother into marriage,” she said sharply.

“Entrapped?” He gave an inelegant snort. “That shows how little you know about it. If there was any entrapment,

it was your brother who orchestrated it. He has been hot on her trail since he arrived. Any fool could see that.”

“Lucien would
never
stoop to such a thing! May I remind you that my brother is a duke, and the handsomest man in London. Women chase him in swarms.”

“That explains why he is so enamored of my sister, then,” Robert said with a superior smirk. “Men don’t like forward females.”

Liza’s hands balled into fists. “
Real
men like women who are their equals and do not pander to their every whim and whimsy.”

“What do you know of real men? Unless London has changed drastically since I visited it, there
are
no real men in London.”

Having spent the last two months there, Liza was inclined to agree with him, but she was not about to bow so tamely. “Your manners are intolerable. You are arro- gant, rude, and—”

“Rude? What about people who come unannounced for a visit and demand the best guest room? What do you call that?”

“I sent a letter, but it has apparently been mislaid. Besides, I did not ask for the best guest room. I would have been happy for a pallet in the attic, if that had been all that was available.” Anything to escape Aunt Lavinia’s stifling presence.

“Ballocks.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” he said impatiently, sending her a sil- ver glance. “Please don’t tell me you do not know what ballocks are.”

“I do indeed know what they are,” she said acidly, won- dering if it was a special crime to kick a crippled man in the knee. “I am no missish female, Mr. Hadley. I am quite

familiar with the term
ballocks
. In fact, I use the word quite frequently myself.”

His brows rose. “I don’t believe you.” “Well, I do.”

“Let me hear you, then.”

That gave her pause, but she hid it behind a scowl. “Very well. Ballocks. There, I said it.”

He snorted. “I would hardly call that using a word. If you are going to use a word, then grab it with both hands, don’t just fondle the damn thing.”

His needling pricked her anger, and she seethed with the desire to put him in his place. “Very well, damn it.
Ballocks to you!”

“Oh, dear,” said a soft voice from the doorway. Aunt Emma stood with her mobcap askew, wringing her hands and looking from one to the other. “Is . . . is there a prob- lem?”

“No!” said Robert and Liza in unison. Liza glared, but Robert seemed amused, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

“Oh. I see,” said Aunt Emma, plainly bewildered. Her brow furrowed for a moment, then cleared as she bright- ened. “I know! Perhaps you would like some nice tea and cookies.”

“Thank you, Lady Durham,” said Liza stiffly, “but I find that I am more tired than I realized. I wish to retire to my room, if you don’t mind.”

“Coward,” murmured Robert, watching her with eyes strangely alight.

She sent him a quelling glance, her head held at a proud angle.
“Fool.”

“Oh, dear,” said Aunt Emma again, looking uneasily from Robert to Liza. “I hope you found everything in your

room satisfactory, Miss Devereaux. Was... was the bed not made?”

“The room is lovely, thank you.”

Robert
tsk
ed. “And to think you would have been happy with a pallet in the attic.”

With a frigid glare that caused its intended victim to grin even wider, Liza stormed out the door, pausing only to offer the tiniest curtsy to Aunt Emma as she went.

“What will Jane say?” Aunt Emma said. “We had such hopes that perhaps—”

“If you will excuse me, I am going outside,” Robert said shortly, though a smile lingered on his mouth. With a last glance at the doorway through which Miss Devereaux had disappeared, he pushed himself onto the terrace and slammed the door behind him.

Aunt Emma pulled her medicine from her pocket. Rosemont couldn’t handle any more upsets. She took a long sip and looked up at the portrait of the Captain. With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she was alone, she turned to the portrait and said in a loud voice, “I wish you would at least make a push to help us. Jane and I can only do so much, you know.”

To her astonished gaze, it appeared as if the Captain’s gentle smile broadened, his blue eyes twinkling. Emma took a hasty step back, her mouth wide open. Then she turned and ran from the room, calling for Jane as she fled.

nm

Chapter 23

A

unt Jane was determined that the wedding would be the social event of the year, and since she had less

than twenty-four hours in which to plan it, she was in something of a tizzy. Arabella could have cared less for the type of cake that was served, the amount of greenery to be used in adorning the church, or the color of cloth hung over the old settee. It was fortunate for all involved that her aunts’ boundless excitement made up for her own lack of enthusiasm.

By midafternoon, the morning room was already cov- ered with Christmas greenery, the carpets beaten and replaced, the chairs arranged to hide the faded and worn spots, and every bit of silver that had spent the last ten years collecting dust in the Rosemont cupboards was on display. All in all, it was an impressive sight that would greet their guests after the wedding tomorrow.

Arabella sat near the open door of the morning room and listened with half an ear to her aunts’ endless quib-

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bling over the arrangement of the extra chairs, and won- dered how Lucien was faring with the vicar. She didn’t have long to wait. He emerged from the library a short time later, looking suspiciously white about the mouth and ready to murder someone. Arabella slipped unnoticed from the room and joined him in the foyer.

He stood staring with an unseeing gaze at the front door, as if he longed to pass through and never return. The sight made her spirits sink even lower. She wished she knew how to set him at ease and convince him that all would be well, but she couldn’t find the words.

She had just decided to leave when he muttered a curse and turned, coming to an abrupt halt when he saw her standing so near.

His face softened and some of the tension left his shoulders. “I was coming to find you. I must leave to get the license.”

Arabella’s mouth went dry. Part of her wanted to offer him his freedom and point the way to the door, while the other part longed to burrow in his arms and never let go. She clasped her hands behind her back. “Then we are to be married.” Perhaps if she said it aloud, it wouldn’t seem quite so preposterous.

“Yes,” he said in a firm voice, as if daring her to con- tradict him. “Tomorrow morning. All I need to do is get the license from the bishop. In the meantime, you should rest.” A sudden smile warmed his eyes and he crossed to stand in front of her, his shoulders blocking the light from the window. “You look a bit pale this morning. I should have let you sleep more.” He brushed his fingertips over her cheek, his touch warming all the way to her stomach.

Arabella closed her eyes and wondered what he would do if she placed her head against his broad chest and lis- tened to the steady beat of his heart as she had done in the

cottage. But somehow, the intimacy of the cottage seemed far away, the spell broken by the cold, stern necessity of their circumstances. She raised her gaze to his. “Lucien, perhaps we should reconsider—”

His hand touched her lips, silencing her. He regarded her somberly, his green eyes dark with some emotion. “We are set in our course, Bella.” He dropped his hand to capture hers. Smiling, he brushed a soft kiss across her fingers and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “Don’t look so worried. This is best for us all.”

Arabella looked down at his large hand as it enveloped hers, and she wondered at the sense of security such a simple touch could convey. She only wished it were more than an illusion, something stronger than just her desires. “Lucien, I hope you—”

“Ah, Wexford! There you are,” Aunt Jane said, emerg- ing from the morning room, an ominous list in her hand. “We must discuss the exact time of the wedding. Wilson is ready to deliver the invitations, and we must get them written before another minute advances.”