Candice Hern (45 page)

Marry again?
Where had that notion sprung from? She blushed for the benefit of the room as the image of Edward Maitland came to mind. Her hands flew to her cheeks as she stared at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. What was wrong with her? A respectable middle-aged woman had no business harboring thoughts of such a man. She should be ashamed of herself.

And yet, he had been so charming yesterday. No, it was more than charm. She had been the object of his considerable charm on other occasions. Yesterday, his comfortable presence had reminded her somehow of Martin, open and friendly and compassionate. How odd to liken him to Martin. Two more different men she could not imagine. Nevertheless, for a short time yesterday she had felt a closeness with Mr. Maitland that she would have found unthinkable had she not experienced it.

She had been nervous and awkward in Mr. Maitland's company and had chattered like a magpie at first. When he made it clear that Lord Pemerton intended to make Mary an offer of marriage, she had been stunned. Her first instinct had been to protest, believing the man to be a heartless scoundrel. But it was not her place to object, and besides, it would have been rude to denounce Lord Pemerton's character in front of his uncle. Instead, nervous and confused, she had rattled on about Mary.

"She is such a sweet woman. She deserves so much happiness."

Edward had laughed. "Your knotted brow tells me you are worried she may not find that happiness with my nephew."

Olivia had felt herself blush. "I only want Mary to be happy."

"I have met Lady Mary only these few times," he'd said, "but I liked her at once. I can understand your fondness for her. She has such a vivacity about her. One cannot help but to be drawn to her. And as for Jack, you mustn't be deceived about his character, dear lady," he said, laying a hand momentarily on her arm. "He may be a rascal in public—which, correct me if I am wrong, seems to intrigue Lady Mary—but in fact, he is a good boy at heart. He has certainly been a dutiful and loving son to my sister."

"You are correct about Mary's strange affinity for scoundrels," she said, darting a glance at Mr. Maitland, who laughed. "I have never completely understood it. But I am relieved by your assurance of Lord Pemerton's true nature. Mary has not had much experience with men of good character."

Before she knew what she was doing, Olivia had begun to speak altogether too freely about Mary's past. Mr. Maitland had not apparently made the connection with the late Earl of Assheton and had been amazed to learn that Mary was his daughter.

"I am not surprised to hear that Lady Mary led a somewhat less than happy life in her father's castle," he had said. "I met him only a few times, but it was enough to know that I never cared to meet him again." His nose had wrinkled and a visible shudder had passed through his upper body. "I was thoroughly uncomfortable in his presence," he had continued. "It was his eyes. A slightly vacant look, but with an odd sort of wicked amusement behind it, as if he was secretly laughing at everyone. He had a way of looking at you—a piercing, steady glare down his long nose—that made you squirm to get away."

Olivia had been fascinated to add Mr. Maitland's impressions of the late Earl of Assheton to the information she already had from Mary. She began to put together a more complete picture of the man whose probable madness had made life miserable for his only daughter. It had touched her somehow that Mr. Maitland seemed to understand.

She wondered if he had shared that understanding with his nephew?

Olivia reached for her best lace-trimmed morning cap and forced thoughts of Mr. Maitland from her mind. She tucked her chignon snugly under the cap's full crown and tied its ribbon beneath her right ear as she turned her thoughts once again to her most immediate concern. She really must begin to make plans to find another post, although she supposed there was still a remote possibility that Mary would reject Lord Pemerton's offer. Olivia sincerely hoped that she would—and not because she would lose her position. She honestly believed Lord Pemerton would ultimately cause Mary a great deal of unhappiness.

Mary was not being quite honest with herself, Olivia thought as she gave one last fluff to the lace framing her face and rose from the dressing table. She had observed Mary's many acquaintances and even friendships with rakes, rogues, courtesans, and libertines. Olivia had always disapproved on principle, but had seldom actually had cause for concern. It was somehow different this time. Mary's friendship with Lord Pemerton had stirred her apprehension from the start. Olivia had even attempted to encourage the marquess's interest in Miss Carstairs and others, in hopes of putting an end to his association with her employer.

Mary was never more vibrant than when in his company. She never spoke of any other gentleman with such admiration. Olivia believed Mary was in love with Lord Pemerton, though she probably would never admit it, even to herself. More to the point, she was convinced the marquess would probably never have more than the most casual affection for Mary. Such a situation was bound to end in heartbreak for poor Mary. The pain of her father's physical abuse would be nothing compared to the emotional pain she would endure with such a man—a man who could probably not be faithful if his life depended on it. Did Mary honestly believe she could accept his womanizing? Did she really believe she could ignore the possibility of sharing him with countless other women? Olivia certainly could not have accepted it.

She wondered if Martin had had mistresses. He was away at sea so much of the time, she supposed it was possible. But it was not an idea she cared to explore.

The point was, though, that the marquess—most likely in all innocence—was playing to Mary's deep-rooted feelings of insecurity and inferiority, which she took such pains to disguise. Mary had made great progress in her three years of independence, but it was too short a time in which to completely rebuild the confidence that had been stripped away by her father. She was still very fragile. She needed a patient, compassionate man whose love would lead to a final healing. She would need a strong pair of arms to hold her when the inevitable nightmares came. They were less frequent of late, but nevertheless a concern.

Olivia knew she'd spoken out of turn, but she had done her best yesterday to hint at Mary's vulnerabilities when speaking with Mr. Maitland. Since she knew it was not her place to speak to the marquess directly, she hoped that his uncle would repeat to him some of what she had said.

Of course, she thought as she gave her collar and sleeves one last adjustment before heading downstairs, she might be worrying over nothing. Mary might not accept him after all.

Olivia made her way down to the breakfast room and opened the door. Mary was there before her and looked up with a brilliant smile that lit up her face like a candle.

"Is it not a glorious morning?" she said, her eyes flashing.

Olivia nodded and forced a smile, knowing in that instant that Mary had made her decision.

Chapter 12

Jack felt extraordinarily pleased with himself and with the world at large as he twirled his newly affianced bride around the dance floor at the Duchess of Portland's ball.
What a clever fellow I am
, he thought,
to have effected such a coup
.

He had known, of course, that Mary would not refuse him. How could she? Nevertheless, he had been surprisingly nervous when, in response to her note, he had arrived at Upper Brook Street last Thursday. When he had been greeted by a smiling Mary, who announced her intention of accepting his proposal, he had grasped her by the waist and swung her through the air. She had laughed with him—that rich, throaty laugher he had always thought delightful, but which he now found to be unexpectedly provocative—and he had kissed her again with genuine pleasure.

"When, Mary?" he asked when they had both come back to earth. "When will you make me happy? Very soon, I hope?" He had crooned into her ear in his most persuasive tone, hoping she would agree to a quick marriage. He was anxious to get on with it.

"It was a monumental enough decision to accept your proposal. Jack," she had said. "Let me get used to the idea. Please, don't rush me."

Slightly disappointed, he had agreed to wait until the late summer when he would take her to Pemworth for the wedding. She had, though, given him permission to announce their betrothal immediately. That alone would be enough to hold the creditors at bay until his marriage.

Ah, sweet Mary, he thought as he looked down into her big hazel eyes. She was going to provide him the means to dig himself at last out of the quagmire of debts he had inherited. He was sincerely grateful to her and would attempt—he really would attempt—to be an accommodating husband. He was fond of her, after all, regardless of the fact that she in no way represented the sort of woman he preferred.

At least, he thought as pulled the diminutive bundle in his arms closer, she was not completely unattractive to him. And he was relieved that she was not the naive virgin he had expected. He would not, after all, have to worry about an awkward, apprehensive wedding night. In fact, he found that he quite looked forward to bedding Mary, whose responsiveness so far had pleasantly surprised him.

Jack glanced around the ballroom, noting many smiles and nods of approval as he spun Mary around to the strains of an unfamiliar waltz. He had not been wrong in predicting an engagement to her would go far toward re-establishing for himself—or rather, establishing, since it had never actually existed—a measure of respectability. After the initial astonished reaction to his announcement in the
Morning Post
, he had heard nothing but warm and sincere congratulations. It seemed that by choosing a woman liked and respected by everyone from the most stiff-necked dowager to the most notorious rake, he had done immense credit to himself. He met with continued congratulations and praise at every turn.

"Well done, Jack."

"A wise choice, my lord."

"She will make you the perfect hostess."

"Never would have guessed you had so much sense, Jack."

"Lady Mary is a great favorite of ours, my lord. We are so pleased to see her settled."

"How astute of you, my boy, to recognize the lady's superior nature."

"A sensible woman, my lord. She will make a fine marchioness."

He chuckled to himself, marveling once again at the extraordinary cleverness he had shown by betrothing himself to a woman who could solve his financial woes, warm his bed, and repair his reputation all at once. It was almost too perfect. He grinned with uncontrollable self-satisfaction and gave Mary's waist a gentle squeeze.

But most satisfying of all, the thing so wonderful that all other considerations paled in comparison, was the information he had had from Mary's man of business. Mr. Fleming had journeyed from Bath especially to meet with Jack and discuss settlements. Mary had chosen not to attend their meeting yesterday afternoon, claiming complete confidence in Fleming and, Jack was intrigued to note, an apparent lack of interest in the whole business.

He had approached the meeting with some trepidation, anticipating endless awkward questions on his own financial status. He had come prepared to utilize his best Superior Marquess tone to deflect the worst of the probing. But such had not been necessary, as Fleming had been thoroughly professional, not even raising a brow when presented with Jack's circumstances. In fact, it had been Jack and not Fleming who had almost lost his composure, for what he learned from Fleming was so stunning, so incredible that he had been almost knocked off his pins.

Mary's fortune amounted to something close to a quarter million pounds!

Jack had done his best not to look flabbergasted, to maintain a casual calm in discussing such a sum. It was not all in cash, of course. There were investments in funds, bank stocks, government securities, cargo shares, and even canal futures. Not to mention enormous annuities to various charities. It was an impressive portfolio, and it was soon to be his.

Once able to think clearly, he began to appreciate Fleming's conscientious management of Mary's affairs. It was due to Fleming's insistence, and not any particular request from Mary, that trust funds were established to protect the fortune for any children they might have, as well as arrangements for the bulk of the estate to revert to Mary in the case of divorce, annulment, or childless widowhood. This provision did not overly concern Jack as he would certainly never willingly consent to end the marriage, and intended to set about producing an heir as soon as possible. All in all, his future was settled and he was well pleased.

What a sly little thing she is, he thought as he looked down at Mary once again. Who would have guessed she sat on such a fortune? He believed most of the ton would be as astonished as he was to discover she was worth a quarter million pounds. It followed, therefore, that no one would think him a fortune hunter.

How perfectly everything had fallen into place. He could not have planned things better if he had tried.

The waltz ended, and Jack tucked Mary's hand into the crook of his arm as he led her into supper. Although his cheeks ached from constant smiling, he was so proud of himself he could not seem to stop grinning like a fool. Mary looked up and returned such a brilliant smile that he knew she must be as happy as he was. He suffered a momentary pang of guilt that she was happy for very different reasons.

Good Lord, he hoped she was not in love with him.

No, Mary was too sensible for such foolishness. She was no doubt happy to be marrying at all, to have her future settled at last, to have a man to look after her, to stoke her long dormant passions. She was getting precisely what she needed, he thought as they entered the crowded supper room. And so was he. It was ridiculous to harbor needless guilt over such an excellent arrangement.

* * *

"Everything seems to be happening so fast," Mary said to her friend Lady Bradleigh. They sat side by side in Mary's carriage as it made its way down the Strand back toward Mayfair. The two ladies had spent the morning selecting fabrics at Layton & Shears on Henrietta Street, and were now on their way to Mrs. Gill's on Cork Street to have them made up into new dresses—Mary for her wedding clothes and the countess to accommodate her rapidly expanding waistline.