A Countess of Convenience (7 page)

Like her mother, Lady Caroline had exacting standards. Fortunately, she had many servants to do her bidding. Prudence couldn't help being a bit in awe of the countess who never had a stain, a wrinkle, or a messy hairdo. She seemed to control everything in her world, except her arrogant son, but even he rebelled politely.

Lady Caroline had obviously decided to mold Prudence into an image of herself. Prudence seriously doubted she could reach the countess's exalted standards, nor did she particularly want to, but once Lord Malvern had secluded her in the country, it would no longer be of great importance. So, for now, she listened attentively, nodded and smiled if she thought it appropriate, and was glad the countess could be so easily managed.

Malvern took his first sip of the burgundy the duke had ordered for their second course and nodded approvingly. Although he'd always thought the Duke of Litton a stiff-necked bore, he had to admit the man knew his wines. Surprisingly, Malvern hadn't found tonight's dinner as boring as he'd expected.

The duke's dinners at the Carlton Club each Wednesday—the night the House traditionally dismissed for dinner—had come to be considered the place to spot rising stars in the Conservative political firmament. Malvern found a certain excitement in sitting at the duke's right hand even though he knew the announcement of his engagement to the duke's cousin was the only reason he was here.

The possibility of gaining political influence from his attachment to Prudence Crump had not occurred to him until he had received the duke's invitation. He could sense the other diners not only at this table, but throughout the dining room, appraising him a little differently. His mother would be ecstatic.

Litton cleared his throat. “So, how's that burgundy, Malvern?"

"Excellent, your grace. A very good year."

A hint of a smile on the duke's usually stern face showed his pleasure. “I've several cases of this vintage in my own wine cellar."

Not knowing how else to reply to such a boastful statement, Malvern said, “I shouldn't wonder."

Lord Cosgrove, who sat across the table from him, spoke up. “So tell us, Malvern, how did you manage to become engaged to the duke's cousin, when none of us have even met her?"

"Her brother, Neil Weathersby, and I are long-time acquaintances.” Malvern hated to even mention the cur's name, but had found his former relationship to Neil the quickest way to explain his sudden engagement.

"Weathersby?” Cosgrove looked at the duke with a puzzled frown.

"My late aunt's first husband was the brother of Viscount Weathersby. Actually, I've had little contact with either of her offspring, but Lady Agatha tells me the daughter is an admirable young woman."

"She must be.” Cosgrove chuckled. “I seem to recall Malvern saying he intended to wait until at least forty to marry. It would take a special lady to disrupt those well-laid plans."

Lord Peabody, on Malvern's right, managed to tear himself away from his lamb chop long enough to say, “Don't you know that the more a man claims to disbelieve in love the more likely he is to become its victim?"

This inspired a series of wry comments and a good deal of laughter from around the table. Malvern couldn't believe how readily everyone jumped to the conclusion that he and Prudence were rushing to the altar due to love. But he supposed that was better than their knowing the truth, so he endured his companions’ jibes good-naturedly.

The duke coughed into to his napkin, bringing the laughter to a halt. “My wife's already moved back to our country estate, but we'll certainly want to have you and—and—er—"

"Prudence,” Malvern supplied. The ass didn't know his own cousin's name.

"Yes, Prudence—for dinner soon. Need to get to know the both of you, now that you're settling down."

Lord Cosgrove nodded, causing his double chins to waddle. “Yes, indeed, glad to see you settling down, Malvern. The party needs you young-bloods to become more involved."

The duke fixed Malvern with a steely gaze and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Change is in the wind. This is a good time to align yourself with the more stable faction of our party."

Malvern knew the duke referred to the Tory faction of the Conservative party and wasn't sure he wanted to become one of these stogy gentlemen. Nevertheless, he tried to look thoughtful as he said, “I see what you mean."

Like it or not, he had to maintain cordial relations with the duke or the man might take it upon himself to become his cousin's advocate and interfere with Malvern's plans to leave Prudence in the country. He'd better put a bun in her basket post-haste to explain her absence from the London social scene. Doing so would be another benefit of his coming marriage, one he found himself looking forward to.

Unsure of his reception, Neil stood a little back from the entryway and scanned the smoking room of the Carlton Club. As he'd expected, Malvern, Harry Cartland, and Foster Turnbull sat in a cluster of chairs in the middle of the room enjoying cigars and brandy. Malvern's easy friendship with Turnbull always irritated Neil. After all, Foster's grandfather had been nothing more than a cobbler. Times had certainly changed—for the worse.

Neil took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate on his mission. His relationship with Malvern had to be re-established. He had planned to wait until the earl's anger had been diluted by his growing passion for Prudence. After seeing the sparks that flew between them on the night they met, Neil had expected the earl to quickly mellow toward his future bride. But after speaking with her this morning, he knew that wasn't happening.

Malvern and Pru were not getting on and it was imperative to Neil's plan that they do so. His creditors were hounding him so unmercifully that he would have to approach Malvern for assistance as soon after the wedding as possible. Malvern would surely refuse unless he had developed tender feelings for his new wife and would want to protect her brother.

Telling himself the earl would never cause a scene in the club, Neil squared his shoulders and approached his quarry. Malvern glanced his way, and his expression hardened.

Neil tried to project the proper mix of confidence and humility as he nodded to Foster and Harry and then fixed his gaze on the earl. “I hate to disturb you fellows, but I wonder if I might have a private word with Malvern?"

Foster muttered and shifted in his chair as though about to rise. Harry remained rock steady, apparently determined to see what transpired.

"No need for you two to bestir yourselves,” Malvern said to his friends. He snubbed out his cigar and pointed toward the corner of the room with his brandy glass. “There are a couple of free chairs, Weathersby."

Neil followed him to the indicated spot. Malvern's icy demeanor made him wonder if he'd done the right thing in coming here. “I know you have reason to be angry with me. You think I betrayed our friendship."

"Think?” Malvern's sneer became rock hard.

"I did take advantage of the situation, but only because I wanted to help Pru—I'd promised our mother—"

Malvern waved him to silence. “I don't want to hear anymore about your devotion to your mother. You damn well showed little of it while she was still alive."

Neil felt his cheeks burning. “You're right. I wasn't a good son, and now that the dear woman is gone I'm racked with guilt. That's why I'm so determined to see Pru safely settled."

"If her safety was all you were worried about you could have honestly married her off to someone of her own class. She's pretty enough to get a decent offer. But no, you had to trick a wealthy, titled friend."

The mention of Malvern's damn title revived Neil's spirit. “Her mother was the daughter of a duke. Half of her blood is bluer than yours, a fact you didn't waste any time taking advantage of from what I hear."

Malvern crashed his brandy glass down on the table so sharply that the base broke, the glass tipped over, and the contents flowed onto the table.

"You cheeky bastard.” Malvern leaned across the table and spoke through gritted teeth. “I had to accept that invitation from Litton to save what little reputation your sister has left. You two think you can go about in the world doing whatever you like and get away with it. Well, by God, if she's to be my countess, she'll keep her skirt tails clean."

"Surely you don't still believe Prudence deliberately set out to seduce you into marriage. She's far too ingenuous to engage in such a plot. That's why I can't stand by and let you hurt her."

An angry flush colored Malvern's cheeks, but he still managed to keep his voice low. “What in the hell are you talking about? I've promised to marry her and have installed her in my mother's home. How does that hurt her?"

At last Neil had turned the conversation in the direction he wanted it. He looked his opponent in the eye. “I went to see her today. She said you've only paid two brief visits to your mother's during the week and barely spoke to Prudence during those visits."

Malvern drew his head back as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. “I'm not a besotted bridegroom, and she's not a blushing bride-to-be, as you very well know."

Neil shook his head and tried to look angry. “It's all very well to blame Pru and me for this situation, but if you'd talked to my sister like a gentleman, rather than grabbing and mauling her, none of this would have happened. You mustn't be angry with her. She had no idea I hoped to make a match between you two. I swear it...on my mother's grave."

Malvern leaned back in his chair as he stared at Neil with a speculative gaze. Then he looked away and noticed a waiter hovering nearby. Apparently the man wanted to clean up the mess on the table but hesitated to interrupt such an intense conversation. Malvern's fists slowly relaxed, and he waved the waiter over.

While the table was being cleared, Malvern opened his cigar case and selected a rod of tightly wrapped tobacco, conspicuously not offering one to his tablemate. When the waiter had finished clearing away the mess, Malvern ordered a fresh brandy, again ignoring his companion.

The waiter glanced nervously at Neil, who shook his head, not wanting anything to disrupt this last chance at softening Malvern's stance against Prudence.

"So,” Malvern said after the waiter left, “what else does your sister want from me?"

"She hasn't told me that she wants anything, but I can tell she's intimidated by you. Is it too much to ask for you to be, at least, pleasant to her?"

"Pleasant? Huh! That's something I've had trouble being ever since our evening at the theater."

"You've always been able to charm women, even those you intended to never see again. Doesn't it make sense to expend a little of that charm on the woman you're going to be tied to for life?"

Malvern bit down on his cigar, and for a moment, Neil feared he'd gone too far. “I only accept advice on my personal life from close friends, and you and I ceased to be friends five days ago."

Neil gave a curt nod. “Thank you for hearing me out.” He got up and walked out of the room, keeping his back straight and avoiding eye contact with anyone else.

Despite Malvern's brusque dismissal, Neil had seen the way the skin tightened around his eyes, a sign Neil's words had caused Malvern to think about his treatment of Pru. This humiliating interview might prove worthwhile after all.

Prudence murmured, “No, thank you,” to the footman offering her a serving of roast duck. Lady Carolina had announced earlier that this would be a simple meal, since there would only be three dining, but they were already up to the fourth course. It seemed silly to Prudence for three people to sit at a table that could hold twenty and be served by four footmen and a wine steward, but then no one had asked for her opinion, and she wasn't about to volunteer it.

"Don't you like roast duck, Prudence?” Lady Caroline never missed anything that happened at her table.

"Yes, ma'am, but I want to save room for dessert,” Prudence replied.

Lady Caroline turned back to her son. “She eats like a bird."

"Good,” he replied. “I can save money on groceries."

"What a thing to say.” Lady Caroline looked as if his remark offended her. “I hardly think you need worry about the expense of feeding a wife.” Then she smiled slyly. “But you might worry about what we've spent in the shops this week."

Malvern looked at Prudence over the top of his wine glass. “I do hope you bought something that isn't black."

"Yes, now that she's into the second phase of mourning, some color is allowed, although I had to convince Prudence it was proper. She's very conservative."

He smirked. “About some things."

Prudence fastened her attention on her plate, determined not to let the fact she was being talked about as if she weren't in the room disturb her.

"Don't be tedious,” his mother chastised. Although Lady Caroline did not hesitate to point out Prudence's faults, she jumped to her defense whenever Malvern said anything critical. Prudence wished Lady Caroline would just ignore his surly attitude, because her defense only increased Malvern's anger, as shown by the way he now glowered.

Perhaps Lady Caroline came to the same conclusion, for she suddenly changed the topic. “So tell me more about your dinner with the Duke of Litton. Who else attended?"

"The usual crowd. I was the youngest man there."

"I hope you behaved yourself and made a good impression on them. I'm sure Litton is positioning himself to lead the charge against Peel. This is a perfect opportunity for you to gain influence. If Litton and his friends manage to form a new government, you could easily win a cabinet position."

Lord Malvern delayed putting a fork full of roast duck in his mouth long enough to say, “They may bring down Sir Robert, but I doubt they can form a government themselves."

"Nevertheless, with Peel gone, control of the party will undoubtedly return to House of Lords, where it should be."

Prudence had never seen a woman argue politics with a man.

Lord Malvern paused to swallow his food. “Sir Robert created the Conservative Party, Mother. If they remove him, they'll wreck it."

Lady Caroline shook her head impatiently. “No man is indispensable. Peel has destroyed himself by ignoring traditional Tory beliefs. Someone else will rise to fill the space he currently occupies."