Cavendish Brothers 02 - To Enchant an Icy Earl (8 page)

Were he not standing in the middle of
a London street, Fordingham would be tempted to quite literally
scratch his head over Danby’s tirade. After all, hadn’t the man
been attempting to force as many of his grandchildren as he could
into marriage only last Christmastide? Why would he be so upset
that another of them had secured a match—particularly if it didn’t
require his involvement? It made no sense, but this did not seem an
opportune time to point out the duke’s contradictory
behaviors.

“
I did hear that they’d
married,” he finally hedged. “I assumed you were aware of their
budding relationship.” Not that he would have ever thought to tell
Danby anything about anything. Why would he need to? The old codger
knew everything there was to know, it seemed. He had to have spies
throughout all of England and likely half the Continent as
well.

“
You assumed, did you? Of
course you did. Imbecile.” Danby spun on his heel and marched back
to his carriage. When he was halfway up the steps, he called out
over his shoulder, “Well? Why are you still standing there looking
like the numbskull you apparently are? Get in.”

In all his life, Fordingham could not
recall anyone ever referring to him as dumb, let alone as an
imbecile or a numbskull, let alone all of those in one
conversation—certainly not doing so and then living to tell the
tale. And yet, instead of continuing on his way alone, his feet
followed in the same path that Danby had just taken, and he climbed
inside the carriage with the cantankerous duke.

Once inside, he immediately wished
he’d done as he ought. Wesley sat on the bench across from Danby,
with his wife at his side and a glare heated enough it should have
been able to melt holes through Fordingham’s person.

“
Sit!” Danby
barked.

Fordingham sat.

What in God’s name had come over
him?

Blessedly, they were not confined to
the duke’s carriage for long, as apparently they were likewise on
their way to Marston House. When they arrived, the four of them
descended and Danby led the way inside, with Wesley and Mrs.
Cavendish following behind him and Fordingham taking up the
rear.

The duke did not slow at
the door once the butler opened it, but instead barreled straight
through and to the sitting room as though he owned the house. When
Fordingham entered, the bedraggled butler looked at
him
as though for
answers.

“
Inform Lord Marston that
the Duke of Danby wishes an audience,” he finally said. “And inform
Miss Bartlett that I will be taking her on a promenade.”

Wesley turned around sharply upon
hearing that last bit with a heated glare, and so Fordingham
quickly remembered himself.

“
I’m sorry. Revise that
last bit to enquire if Miss Bartlett would wish to accompany me for
a promenade.”

“
No one is going anywhere,”
Danby shouted from inside the drawing room. “Tell Marston and my
granddaughter that their presence is required, and do the same for
this Miss Bartlett as well. There is much to be
settled.”

The butler appeared more confused than
ever, but he quickly bowed his head and scurried away.

Was this the way Fordingham
treated people? Did he make them feel as small and inconsequential
as Danby was making him feel at the moment? He’d always issued
orders, because that was what his father had taught him to
do.
The Earl of Fordingham does not make
requests
, and so on and so forth,
ad infinitum
. Was this
how Wesley had felt all these years in Fordingham’s
presence?

With such thoughts running rampant
through his mind, Fordingham followed Danby, Wesley, and Mrs.
Cavendish into the drawing room. He’d only been there for a moment
when Lady Marston rushed inside.

“
Grandfather,” she
exclaimed. “We weren’t expecting you today.” She smoothed a hand
over her skirts and prepared to greet her other guests, but Danby
spoke before she could do so.

“
Yes, I noticed your
husband has not invited me to see you since your wedding. I decided
to rectify that myself, since he seems disinclined to do so for
me.” He squinted at her. “You do realize this does not leave me
predisposed to like him, do you not?”

Lady Marston wasn’t granted an
opportunity to answer him. Marston came in after his wife, and then
Miss Bartlett followed.

Her blue eyes caught Fordingham’s and
held briefly before she looked away with a blush. It took every
ounce of restraint he possessed not to cross the room to her and
whisk her away from the palpable tension present in the room. He
wanted to take her somewhere they could be alone, and kiss her
blushes away, then kiss her some more to cause her to blush even
more furiously. And yet somehow he refrained.

“
I apologize,” Marston
said, returning Fordingham’s attention to the others in the room.
“I’ve been—”

“
Otherwise occupied with
trying to marry off your sisters,” Danby interrupted. “I’m well
aware of that fact, Marston.” The duke settled onto a settee, and
then he thumped his cane on the floor again as he’d done earlier.
“How soon is Fordingham to wed the eldest?” He waved in the
direction of Miss Bartlett, who blushed again and averted her
gaze.

Once more, Fordingham could
do nothing but blink in confusion. How did Danby know that they
were betrothed? There hadn’t been any formal announcement yet. It
had only just been agreed upon two evenings ago. The banns had not
been called, there’d not been an advertisement run in the
Times
.
Nothing.

And yet Danby knew.

“
The banns will be called
for the first time on Sunday,” Marston said, his tone revealing him
to be far less flummoxed than Fordingham was at present. “They’ll
marry as soon as possible afterward.”

“
I could arrange for a
special license, you know. I did so for you, and for many of
Louisa’s cousins.”

Including Wesley and Mrs. Cavendish.
Fordingham had not forgotten that.

But
he
had been the one to insist there
was to be no rush for the nuptials. Marston and Montague had both
argued for a special license, considering the events in the
carriage and the rapidity with which gossip had a tendency to
spread throughout Town. Fordingham would hear nothing of it,
however. He didn’t want anyone to think there was a reason for a
hasty marriage, even if there
had
been such cause.

And no one but Montague had witnessed
any of those events. The earl was hardly a man to reveal such a
thing if it should potentially damage a young lady’s
reputation.

“
That will hardly be
necessary, Duke,” Fordingham said at length, keeping his voice calm
and distant as he so often did. “It is far better for her
reputation if no one thinks she’s been compromised.”

Danby’s head whipped around, as though
he’d just remembered that Fordingham was present in the room. “So
kind of you to insinuate yourself into our conversation,
Fordingham. I believe it is for Miss Bartlett’s brother who, as you
well know, is her guardian to determine what is best for her
future, however.”

The thin veneer of control
he’d been maintaining began to slip, and he felt his back bowing up
as a cornered animal might do. How very odd. Fordingham could never
recall such an experience in his life. He’d never allowed his anger
to gain such control over him before. “As her future husband, I
should think it would be for
me
to determine what is best for her.”

“
Is that so?” Danby stood
again, slamming the bottom of his cane onto the floor with decisive
impunity. “Well, as the man who is essentially her grandfather, and
as the Duke of Danby, I think it perhaps is for
me
to determine—”

“
Enough!”

Fordingham’s jaw dropped when Miss
Bartlett’s sister, Miss Miranda, pushed forward into the middle of
the room. What on earth did she think she was doing?

“
I might remind you all,”
she said softly, but firmly, “that Calista has reached her
majority. Perhaps it would be wise for you—
all
of you—to remember that she can
make decisions for herself. And instead of
telling
her what is best for her, it
might behoove you to
ask
what she wants.” This last bit, she delivered
whilst looking decidedly at Fordingham and no one else.

But he had asked Miss Bartlett what
she wanted, hadn’t he? Or even if he hadn’t, she’d been quite vocal
in telling him. She wanted him to seek an introduction. She wanted
him to court her. Surely, she must want to marry him.

Yet as he looked over to where she
stood alone by the hearth, and as he stared into those eyes that
were the same shade as the Greek sea—eyes filling with heavy
tears—he knew without a doubt.

He hadn’t asked her to marry
him.

He’d told her she would, and then he’d
finalized the details with her brother…and expected that she would
simply do as she was told. Because he was the Earl of Fordingham,
after all. Everyone did what he told them to do.

Didn’t they?

Despite searching her memory, Calista
couldn’t recall ever having experienced a day quite like this one
before in her life.

After Miranda had
effectively chastised Devlin, Fordingham,
and
the Duke of Danby, the duke had
moved on from the subject of Calista and Fordingham, and whether
their marriage would best be conducted by special license or
through more traditional means, to discuss the earl’s rather testy
relationship with his brother.

She’d only thought there was a great
deal of tension in the room while they’d been discussing her
impending marriage. Once the topic of conversation switched to the
rift between Fordingham and Mr. Cavendish, she’d wished the floor
would open up and swallow her whole.

Indeed, their conversation quickly
became so heated (Calista wouldn’t have been surprised in the least
if Mr. Cavendish had planted the earl a facer) that Louisa had
interrupted her grandfather’s diatribe in order to excuse both
Calista and Miranda from the room. Then she had shooed the two
girls on their way when they didn’t exit fast enough for her
liking.

Once the two sisters were in the
corridor, Miranda looked over at her with a pained expression. She
started to say something but stopped, and then tried again twice
more before shaking her head and dashing up the stairs.

Calista followed her sister with her
eyes, only to discover Penny looking down at her over the railing.
When, yet again, the voices inside the drawing room rose in a
heated exchange, Penny’s eyes widened and she darted away like a
frightened rabbit…well, a frightened rabbit with a gleam in her
eyes and a wicked grin upon her lips, that was.

Which left Calista alone. Thoroughly,
inexplicably alone.

She wandered through the halls of
Marston House, though she had no real purpose for her wanderings.
All the while, she debated within her mind what she truly wanted.
Despite her conversation with Georgie two nights ago, and despite
Miranda, of all people, arguing for Calista to have a voice in
determining her future, she still didn’t know what she
wanted.

What good would it do to be allowed to
voice her opinion, if she didn’t even know what her opinion might
be?

She’d thought she wanted
Lord Fordingham. Indeed, she’d been quite sure of it that night
they first met. But was it really him that she wanted, or did she
just
not
want a
man who was like Lord Ellis? And if it was the latter and not the
former, was marrying Lord Fordingham the best means of securing the
future she wanted? Perhaps she could have looked for a gentleman
who was unlike Lord Ellis in some ways, but not in
every
way.

The more she paced the corridors, the
more questions she seemed to have…and the fewer answers. She made
her way through the library and out into the garden behind the
house. The sun shone down upon the rose trellis, lending the air a
false sense of warmth. She sat upon a stone bench, wishing she
could find an answer. Any answer.