A Rake by Any Other Name (19 page)

That was an understatement. She adored him. He'd shown her that she was precious—all of her. For the first time since she realized she'd been duped by Julian Parrish, she felt worthy of love. Though he hadn't really said the words, Richard Barrett's eyes shone with it. Perhaps that look would be enough till he found those words. But until he did, Sophie couldn't admit that she loved him so much her insides ached with it.

“Yes, I more than tolerate you, Lord Hartley. In fact, I think you'll do quite nicely as a permanent adornment to my arm.”

“I'll take that as an acceptance of my suit.”

He bent to kiss her with gentleness this time. With the unhurried leisure of one who expected to kiss her every day for the rest of her life.

When he released her lips, she palmed both of his cheeks. “When we do marry, Richard, you will be the most exciting adventure of my life.”

“From one who's ridden an elephant, that's high praise.”

It's not often I find anything to commend in the Scottish race—all those infernal bagpipes and ridiculous kilts and general boisterousness. Quite unsettling. But I must say that Robert Burns fellow was right when he penned the bit about how the best laid plans oftimes “gang agley.”

—Phillippa, the Dowager Countess of Somerset

“Hartley, dear, I'm so glad you're home,” his mother said when Richard strode into the parlor. He'd expected to find his family sedately taking their afternoon tea. Instead, his mother was composing lists, and his sisters were busily addressing envelopes. Reams of paper were scattered over the low tea table. His father and Lord Pruett had evidently fled in the face of such feminine industry. “Just wait till you hear. Lady Antonia has had a wonderful idea.”

Antonia clutched a small portfolio crammed with loose papers to her impeccably stylish bodice. “I was concerned that we were lingering so long in the country. It's interfering with Lady Ella's Season, and that hardly seems fair.”

“You see, Hart,” Ella said with a sniff, “at last,
someone
is thinking about me.”

It had been a bone of contention that he wouldn't spare any of the funds he'd just secured for the forestry project to foot the bill for Ella to lark off to London and join the husband hunt. If all went well, he promised her a new wardrobe and a whirlwind of fashionable outings next year, but he couldn't in good conscience waste his seed money on fripperies now.

He probably should have thought of different words to describe Ella's longed-for Season when he explained matters to his mother and sisters. His refusal to bend to feminine pressure had not won him any allies at home.

“What are you scheming now?” he demanded.

He directed his question to Ella, but it was Antonia who flinched as though he'd slapped her. “It's not a scheme,” Antonia said. “It's just a little house party with a ball thrown in. If Ella cannot go to London, London must come to her.”

He dragged a hand over his face. “May I speak with you in private, Mother?”

Antonia looked stricken as she turned to go. “We thought you'd be pleased.”

He felt low as boot leather for his harsh tone, especially since he was honor bound to wound her even more in a very short time. “After I speak with Mother, I wonder if I could have a word with you, Lady Antonia…also in private.”

A smile lit her face, knowing glances passed from woman to woman around the room, and he realized he'd erred badly. That was just the sort of thing a man might say when he wished to take a girl off by herself so he could propose.

“Certainly,” Antonia said. “I'll wait for you in the garden by the fountain.”

Lud, the most romantic spot in the garden.
But there was nothing else for it. That would have to do.

Once Antonia and his sisters filed out of the parlor, his mother patted the cushion beside her on the settee. “Come, Hartley, and rest yourself. You look positively drained after that ride. Really, you'd ought to limit such outings to once a day. As I always tell your father, a man—”

“Mother, how could you have encouraged the idea of a house party when you know the delicate situation of our finances? We'll need to take on extra help for all the guests. Mountains more food. Musicians. Decorators. You know we haven't the funds for such an extravagance.”

“But I'm certain your new venture will succeed,” she said soothingly. “Your father has expressed his disapproval over your plan for Somerset's woods, but honestly, trees grow back, and I'm sure you'll save enough wilderness on the estate for your father to have his hunt each year. In any case, I have confidence in you, Hart.”

“Thank you, Mother, but house parties can't be paid for with confidence. Merchants require cash.”

“That's just it. We don't need to have the money now. Everything will be done on credit.” Lady Somerset gestured eloquently. Richard sometimes wondered whether his mother would be struck dumb if someone tied her hands. “We'll simply delay payment. Within half a year, maybe a bit more, you'll be able to pay for the party and ball Antonia is helping us plan.

“I don't wish to use credit for this.”

“But it's how things are done.”

“It's not how I wish them to be done, and at the moment, my wishes hold sway. Or hasn't Father told you?”

Lady Somerset's lips drew into a disapproving moue. “He has. And it really was too bad of you and Mr. Witherspoon to go behind your father's back to have him declared
non
compos
…to have him declared unfit.”

As if it wasn't too bad of his parents to deceive him into thinking his father had been gravely and permanently injured. But Richard didn't want to fight an old battle when he hadn't won the new one yet. “If we fail to pay in timely fashion, what happens to the poor tradesman we owe? Does he have credit to draw upon in order to stay afloat?”

“Spoken like a tradesman,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Not you too, Mother. By the way, speaking of tradesmen, Mr. Goodnight and his family will be moving from Barrett House up to Somerfield Park tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I thought you wanted me to marry the Goodnight heiress. If she's in residence, it will make the job of courting her that much easier.” He tried not to smile, but courting Sophie sounded like the best job in the world. He'd have to be careful not to let it consume him while he was getting the forestry venture under way.

“But…if all goes well with your plans for the woods, you don't need to marry Sophie Goodnight,” his mother said.

“What?”

“We assumed that was why you're so adamant about dabbling in trade.” She leaned forward and straightened a pile of completed invitations on the tea table into a neat stack. She'd organize his life just as easily if he let her. “I know you had your heart set on Antonia, dear, and now you can have her.”

Richard sighed. “What if I don't want her?”

“Bite your tongue, Hart,” his mother said with vehemence. “Don't you see? Now we
need
you to marry someone like Antonia.”

“I know I'll regret asking, but for heaven's sake, why?”

“To take away the taint of trade, of course,” she said. “You insist on solving the estate's problems by slogging away in business, as if you were a grubby clerk trying to make good. It's not at all the sort of thing a marquess in the making does. A match with Lady Antonia will temper your…eccentric leanings in the minds of others. Lord and Lady Pruett are good
ton
, an old family with impeccable connections. People will overlook your trafficking in matters better left to the lower classes if you have someone like Antonia by your side.”

“I don't much care what people think,” Richard said. “The
ton
blows with the wind. Who knows what their collective small minds will pronounce proper from one day to the next?”

“Hartley, we are not talking about how to wear your cravat. We are speaking of the future mother of your children, the future prestige of the title and estate. If you cause Somerset to be awash in dirty trade money with your forestry scheme, you simply must make certain the bloodlines of the marquessate at least remain pure.”

“You weren't at all concerned about Sophie's bloodlines when she came wrapped in her father's dirty trade money.”

“Sophie,” his mother repeated in a sour tone. “That familiar, are you?”

Mother, you have no idea.
But he couldn't say that, so he tackled her other fallacious point. “Money gotten by honest work cannot be dirty.”

“You can espouse whatever political views you want once you take your seat in the House of Lords.” She skewered him with an accusing glare. “I assume you haven't caused your father to be unseated there too.”

He shook his head. “If England can have a mad king, a lord without his wits is no impediment to the state.”

“Good. However, back to the topic at hand, you need to take a responsible position here at home,” she said. “If you don't care what people think of you, at least consider the plight of your sisters. With Lady Antonia at your side, dear Ella, Petra, and Ariel won't be tarred so badly with the stench of trade.”

“Stench of…” He snorted in exasperation and rose to go. “That's more melodrama than one sees on Drury Lane.”

His mother grasped his wrist. “I assure you, it is not. It was a kindness that Antonia thought of the house party and ball before word of your tree business gets around. Once it's out, Ella's acceptability will be severely diminished. She'll have no chance of being approved to purchase an Almack's voucher.”

“She won't be missing much.”

“A man's assessment if ever there was one. You scoff, Hartley, but remember, a woman's best hope in this world is the protection of a good man. Would you deny your sisters their chances for happiness?”

She had him and he knew it. He adored his sisters. But it didn't mean he was going to give up Sophie. He'd just have to work up to it a bit more gradually.

However, he couldn't let Antonia continue in her expectations for one more day. “I will consider what you've said, Mother.”

That was safe, polite yet noncommittal. Perhaps he did belong in the House of Lords.

“If you'll excuse me,” he said, “I believe Antonia is waiting for me in the garden.”

His mother's face crinkled into a satisfied smile. “Of course, dear. I'm sure you'll do what's best.”

Richard was sure of no such thing, but he would do what he must. He strode to the door and stopped with his hand on the knob. “The Goodnights will still be moving up to Somerfield Park tomorrow. I plan to engage some brick masons to repoint the chimney and another crew to repair the roof on Barrett House, so they can't stay there.”

“Hartley,” his mother chided, “if you can spend money on that sort of thing, how could you in good conscience complain about hosting a little house party?”

Sometimes, a man needed to acknowledge when he was beaten, Richard decided. He'd settle for a compromise. The house party would go forward. His understanding with Antonia would not.

“The Goodnights were your guests to begin with,” he told his mother. “See that you make them welcome.”

He made good his escape before she could utter another word.

***

When she heard the crunch of his boots on the gravel path, Antonia stopped pacing and arranged herself in an artful pose on the edge of the fountain. She peered into the basin as if she were a female Narcissus, fascinated by her own reflection. She didn't look up even when the crunching stopped and she knew he could see her. Instead, she trailed a hand in the water and sighed.

Very
romantic.
Hartley couldn't help but be moved. He'd be on his knees before her in just a few moments, and for the rest of his married life, he'd hold this placid image of her in his imagination.

And
wonder
how
he'd been so
deceived.

“My lady.”

She turned toward him then, flashing a practiced smile. Then she quickly let it fade and assumed a mild expression. Oh, how she wished he'd get the formalities out of the way and she could proceed to planning the betrothal and wedding. She didn't know how much longer she could maintain this façade of docile amiability. All she knew was that once she was in line to be the next marchioness, her husband would discover she was not the mild mouse he took her for.

Antonia intended to be the new tastemaker of the
ton
, and the marquessate of Somerset was the perfect platform from which to embark upon her reign. She would give the most dazzling parties, patronize the most stylish artists, and set the tone in fashion for decades to come.

And if Lord Hartley wanted peace at home, he'd quickly come to heel with her plans.

“How I love this fountain, Hartley,” Antonia said, patting the spot on the granite next to her. “Your mother told me it was designed in Paris and moved in pieces to Somerfield Park during the reign of the Sun King. It certainly speaks of all things
français
, doesn't it?” She willed herself to blush. “We have such lovely memories of Paris, you and I.”

He looked away suddenly, and something inside her checked. It was entirely possible he wasn't there to propose. She had to improvise quickly, before he said something that couldn't be unsaid.

“Have a seat,” she urged. “You look tired. I know this whole business with…well, business is wearing on you.”

“On the contrary, it invigorates me,” he said as he sat beside her. “Launching the timber venture is consuming, but I haven't been this excited about a project for a long while.”

She decided to let that pass. He'd been plenty excited about her at one time. He might be enamored of the process of making money now, but all she needed to do was make sure she'd be in a position to spend it later.

“I hope you're not still upset about the house party,” Antonia said meekly. “I'd never have suggested it if I'd thought you'd object.”

“No, it's all right,” he said dully. “It was good of you to figure out a way to help Ella. She's been chafing at the bit to get to London. This is a fair compromise. I've told Mother to go ahead with your plans.”

“Oh, I'm so glad and so very glad you think it fair. Your happiness is of the utmost importance to me.”

He sighed and took one of her hands between his. It was not the grip of an ardent suitor. If she'd wondered before, she was certain of it now. He was about to let her down.

“And because your happiness is all I care about,” she went on before he could speak, “I want you to know that I don't hold you to anything you said to me when we were in Paris.”