Beguiling the Beauty (28 page)

Millie had never known him before he was saddled with a crumbling estate. For a man whose hopes in life had been brutally suffocated, except for one brief period, he’d conducted himself with unimpeachable dignity, burying his disappointment and devoting himself to his duties.

Not that there was anything undignified about a man whistling in the privacy of his own home—she only wished it had happened sooner. That he hadn’t needed a letter from Mrs. Englewood to inspire it.

She’d thought they’d had some good times, too. The Christmas gathering had become a lovely tradition at Henley Park. Their friends eagerly anticipated their annual shooting
party in August. Not to mention all the successes they’d had with Cresswell & Graves, nurturing the near-moribund firm into the brawny enterprise it was at present.

Except, none of these achievements had ever made him whistle.

Nor was it just the whistling. It was the faraway look in his eye, the secret smile on his lips. It was that his entire aspect had changed, from a conscientious married man who dealt with accounts, tenants, and bankers to an unburdened youth with only dreams and adventures on his mind.

The boy he had been, before Fate had shown its harsh hand.

And that was something Millie could never share with him, that glorious, carefree adolescence he had known before she’d arrived in his life, marking the beginning of the end.

“I hope I haven’t inconvenienced everyone greatly, calling for a luncheon out of the blue.”

Millie was startled out of her thoughts. Venetia sauntered into the drawing room, looking ineffably lovely. “No, of course not,” Millie said. “I was already home and the company is most welcome.”

Fitz tossed aside the report and grinned at his sister. “Have you missed us since breakfast or is there another reason for …”

He fell silent. Millie saw it at the same time: the ring on Venetia’s left hand.

“Yes,” said Venetia, looking down at her wedding band. “I’ve eloped.”

Flabbergasted, Millie glanced at her husband, who looked not quite as staggered as she’d have expected him to.

“Who’s the lucky chap?” he asked.

Venetia smiled. Millie couldn’t tell whether it was a happy smile, exactly, but it was so dazzling it left her with little dots dancing on her retinas. “Lexington.”

At last Fitz looked as shocked as Millie felt. “Interesting choice.”

Helena swept into the room. “Why are we speaking of Lexington again?”

Venetia extended her left hand toward Helena. The gold band on her ring finger gleamed softly. “We are married, Lexington and I.”

Helena laughed outright. When no one else joined her, her jaw dropped. “You are not serious, Venetia. You can’t be.”

Venetia’s cheer was undampened. “Last I checked, today is not the first of April.”

“But why?” Helena cried.

“When?” asked Fitz at the same time.

“This morning. The announcement will be in the papers tomorrow.” Venetia smiled again. “I can’t wait to see his museum.”

It took Millie a moment to remember Lexington’s private natural history collection and the enthusiasm Venetia had expressed for it. But that was a continent away and all playacting. Was Venetia’s seeming pleasure all playacting, too?

“But why so soon?” she asked.

“And why didn’t you tell us anything?” Helena was beside herself. “We could have prevented you from making this terrible decision.”

Fitz frowned. “Helena, is that any way to speak to Venetia on her wedding day?”

“You weren’t there,” Helena said impatiently. “You didn’t hear all the hateful things he said about her.”

Fitz considered Venetia. His gaze dropped to her waist.
It was a quick, discreet look—had Millie not been paying close attention, she wouldn’t have noticed.

“Tell me the truth now, Venetia,” he said. “Did you enjoy your crossing?”

The question seemed a complete non sequitur. To Millie’s surprise, Venetia flushed.

“Yes,” she answered.

“And you are sure of Lexington’s character?”

“Yes.”

“Then congratulations.”

“You can’t congratulate her,” Helena protested. “This is all a horrible mistake.”

“Helena, you will refrain from speaking disrespectfully of our brother-in-law in my presence. If Lexington has risen enough in Venetia’s esteem, then it is time you set aside your prejudices and accept her decision.”

Fitz rarely stepped into the paterfamilias role, but his quiet rebuke brooked no dissent. Helena bit her lip and looked aside. The glance from Venetia was grateful and surprised.

“Will you be leaving on your honeymoon very soon, Venetia?” Fitz asked.

“Yes, this afternoon.”

“Let us not stand around, then,” said Fitz. “You will have a thousand details to see to between now and then. Shall we start with the luncheon?”

A
s gentlemen did not wear wedding bands, Christian was not immediately accosted by questions from his stepmother. But she had to know that he would not have asked to see her alone unless he had something important to say.

They both bided their time. He inquired into the comforts of the house she and Mr. Kingston had hired for the Season. She spoke of the delightful little garden that had come with. It was not until they’d come to the conclusion of the meal that the topic turned to his private life.

“Any news concerning your lady from the
Rhodesia
, my dear?”

He stirred the coffee that had been put down before him. “Stepmama, you know how I feel about those who do not keep their words.”

She had sent a note the morning after asking about the dinner, and he’d told her the truth—that he’d been disappointed. He’d also said in the same note that he planned to find out the reason behind his lady’s nonattendance and would let the dowager duchess know as soon as he learned anything. On this latter promise he had not quite followed through.

“Was that all it took to turn your affection? Did you not find out why she broke the appointment?”

“Yes, I did, as a matter of fact.” The coffee, a very good brew, tasted far too much like the cup he’d been sipping when Mrs. Easterbrook had strode to his table that first night on the
Rhodesia
. Such an erotic charge she’d brought with her. He hadn’t been able to taste black coffee since without feeling a surge of the same anticipation.

He poured a liberal amount of sugar and cream into the coffee. “Unfortunately, what I’d thought of as a life-changing event was but a game to her.”

The dowager duchess pushed away the remainder of her Nesselrode pudding. “Oh, Christian. I’m so sorry.”

You have no idea.
“Let’s speak no more of it. It’s water under the bridge.”

“Is it?”

The passage of time had not dulled the pain and humiliation of it. If anything, now that the shock had worn off, now that he knew exactly how she had executed her plan, every memory was an open wound.

“She used and discarded me; I’ve nothing more to say of her.” Except he had to go on speaking of her. “I meant to tell you: I am married.”

“I’m sorry, I must have heard you wrong. What did you say?”

“Mrs. Easterbrook became my wife this morning.”

She stared at him, her incredulity giving way to shock as she realized he had not spoken in jest. “Why was I not told? Why was I not
there
?”

“We chose to elope.”

“I don’t understand the haste—or the secrecy. In the time it took to obtain a special license you could have very well informed me of your plans.”

She was the closest thing he had to a mother. He had worried her and now he’d hurt her, all because he’d been too stupid to know he’d been had. “I do apologize. I hope you will forgive me.”

She shook her head. “You have not offended me, my dear—I am thunderstruck. Why this cloak-and-dagger elopement? And why Mrs. Easterbrook? I was not under the impression that you were particularly fond of her.”

“I am not.” At least that was the truth.

“Then why marry her? You have made your choice as if wives were items on a menu, taking the fish when there is no more steak left. I’m—you have baffled me completely, Christian.”

And disappointed her. She did not need to say those words, he knew. For him to exclude her from one of the
most significant events of his life, and to have entered into marriage so cavalierly—or at least give the impression of having done so—he must come off as someone she scarcely knew.

He hardened his tone. “I’ve done my duty, Stepmama. I’ve married. Let us not inquire too deeply into the reasons.”

She gave him a saddened but no less astute look. “Are you all right, Christian?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. Then, correcting himself, “I
am
fine.”

“And your wife? Does she know about your lady from the
Rhodesia
?”

He could not quite disguise his bitterness. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Does she mind?”

“I do not believe she cares at all.”

“Christian—”

“I hate to be so rude, Stepmama. But my duchess”—saying the word felt like swallowing sand—“and I are departing for our honeymoon posthaste. I cannot linger.”

“Christian—”

He closed his hand over hers. “I am now the most envied man in all of England. Be happy for me, Stepmama.”

C
hristian had no sooner seen off his stepmother than his butler inquired, “Earl Fitzhugh is here, Your Grace. Are you at home to him?”

Of course, his new bride’s brother, here to make noises of displeasure at how unceremoniously he’d carried off the beautiful Mrs. Easterbrook. The former Mrs. Easterbrook. “I’m at home.”

As Fitzhugh was shown in, he was struck by the family resemblance. What had she said?
A brother and a sister—twins—both two years younger than I am.
He should have suspected then and there—he knew very well the composition of her family. But the former Mrs. Easterbrook had been the furthest thing from his mind when she’d been lying directly beneath, beside, or on top of him.

“Will you take some cognac to toast my wedding?” he asked as he shook Fitzhugh’s hand. He had no cause to be uncivil to this new brother-in-law.

“Spirits interfere with my digestion, alas. But I’ll take a cup of coffee.”

Christian rang for the beverage to be brought in.

“We were all taken aback,” said Fitzhugh, making himself comfortable in a high-back chair. “Had no idea you’d been wooing my sister.”

Neither did I, as a matter of fact.
“We kept it quiet.”

“I find it interesting that you said a great deal that was less than complimentary about her. Yet of the two of you, she is not the one who is angry; you are.”

He didn’t have the luxury of a near-perfect vengeance. “You will forgive me for not discussing personal sentiments with a virtual stranger.”

“Of course I did not expect you to confide in me, sir.”

The earl’s eminently reasonable manner was beginning to surprise Christian.

“My sister, too, prefers to keep personal sentiments personal. But sometimes a brother sees things and draws his own conclusions. Of course, without her express permission, I am not at liberty to discuss private particulars of her life, but I will step on no one’s toes in saying a few things about Mr. Easterbrook’s passing.”

Mr. Easterbrook, her wealthy second husband who had died alone. “What of it?”

“According to what Lady Fitzhugh has related to me, you seem to be under the misapprehension that my sister abandoned her husband on his deathbed. I was there that day. I assure you nothing could be further from the truth.”

“You will have me believe she was at his bedside, holding his hand as he drew his last breath?”

“Nothing of the sort. She was downstairs, along with my wife, holding his family at bay, denying them permission, as the lady of the house, to move a single step beyond the drawing room.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because by his bedside, holding his hand, was someone Mr. Easterbrook desperately wanted to be present as he drew his last breath. His family would have removed said person and denied him his dying wish. Venetia was very loyal to Mr. Easterbrook. We all were. Lord Hastings and my younger sister were stationed on the staircase and I myself directly before the door of Mr. Easterbrook’s bedchamber, in case anyone got past Venetia.

“Mr. Easterbrook’s family was not pleased. Afterward, they made a concerted effort to smear my sister’s good name. To protect Mr. Easterbrook even in death, she allowed it.”

Christian set one finger at the midpoint of a fountain pen lying on his desk. “Mr. Townsend—are you not going to say something about him?”

“He falls under those private particulars that she will not wish me to discuss.”