Emily Hendrickson (22 page)

“I will protect you well, although I daresay your grandmother, being the dragon she is, will make that effort quite unnecessary.” He took her hand, raised it to his lips to place a lingering kiss on her palm, then strode from the room.

Chloe stood where he left her, unable to move if she tried. Her nerves felt as though she might shatter if the slightest breeze touched her.

“Oh blast!” she declared, then fled from the room to the entry hall.

“I require the carriage, Scroggins,” she rashly declared in spite of her grandmother’s injunctions against her use of the same. She hoped to arrive at Laura’s house before they could leave. Mrs. Spayne was always slow to depart for shopping, what with making list after list. Of course that was in the event Laura had persuaded her mama to go shopping in the first place.

They could go to Madame Clotilde’s to order Chloe’s wedding gown. There was much to do and her grandmother showed little inclination to help her, at least with her clothing and all the other little things desirable for a wedding.

At the Spaynes’, Laura expressed her eagerness to go with Chloe. Her mother offered to join the girls when Chloe explained that Lady Dancy met with the lawyers over the settlements. She did so in lieu of a father, which Chloe didn’t have at the moment.

“If you please, ma’am,” Chloe said with gratitude. It would have been nice to have her own mama, and since Grandmama was a dragon she would accept help from Mrs. Spayne.

Madame Clotilde did not appear to be surprised in the least when Chloe made her request for a simple wedding gown. No doubt Mrs. Robynhod had been busy, or perhaps the mantuamaker read the announcement in the morning paper.

By the end of the afternoon Chloe had ordered her gown, found a lovely pair of satin slippers with tiny white bows on them, and a fragile white bonnet tied with pale blue satin ribbon just perfect for a wedding. New gloves, a lace reticule, and a soft satin sleeveless pelisse in heliotrope lined with delicate gold completed her preparations.

After depositing Mrs. Spayne and Laura at their home, she sank into a reflection. How had Julian managed with her grandmother and the lawyer? He would give as good as he got, she decided with satisfaction. Even if it meant a diminishing of her own interests, she wanted him to assert himself.

Surely he would take care to see that the annulment would not tangle their affairs for ages, would he not? She wondered at the gleam she sometimes caught in his eyes. Or was that usual for a scoundrel? She had once told him he was no such thing. But in her heart she confessed not only that he most likely was a scoundrel, but she found she had a decided weakness for a scoundrel. And that he must never know.

* * * *

On the first Sunday of the reading of the banns Chloe sat in the family pew and listened with a trembling heart. “Lady Chloe Elizabeth Susan Harriet Maitland” rang ominously in her ears. Was there anyone who knew the truth? Could anyone guess she omitted one of her names so as to create a charge of fraud? This would result in a scandal, she supposed, but one could overcome that. Surely it was preferable to being married to one who disliked you.

Grandmama had grumbled in confusion, wondering aloud if that was correct, and why her daughter had given so many names to a chit in the first place.

It sounded so official, like a prophet of doom. She glanced across to where she knew the St. Aubyn pew was located, but did not see Julian there. The sermon dealt with the importance of truth and the danger of listening to false teachers. When the bishop who delivered the message said, “If you can persuade someone to doubt you, it will lead to unbelief,” Chloe stirred on her cushioned pew.

Her mind had wandered off to the country and the peculiar death of young Lady Twisdale. Perhaps if they might plant doubt regarding the veracity of his lordship they might also be led to the truth of the matter, namely who assisted Lord Twisdale in eliminating his wife.

Chloe doubted he had done the deed alone, he seemed too lofty for that incriminating task. Which meant he had to have an accomplice. And, knowing full well that in the small country village little goes on that is missed by at least one of the inhabitants, the clue could be there—just waiting.

Whenever her thoughts went to what might have been—and the knowledge that it could have been Lord Twisdale’s name linked with hers this morning when the curate read the banns—she felt chilled.

When Julian had discovered that Lady Twisdale had tried to run away, Chloe knew more than ever before that not only must she avoid marrying this man, but she must try to save her dearest friend from the same fate. Laura might have her hands full fending off his lordship, for he was a persistent man. Chloe wondered if either he or Aunt Elinor would attend her wedding and decided it made little difference.

* * * *

That afternoon, St. Aubyn came to call.

Chloe rose from where she was resigned to doing her needlework—a chair seat done in Hungarian stitch using deep greens and blues. One did nothing much on a Sunday in her grandmother’s house. It was tediously boring but had the benefit that she had accomplished more needlework since arriving in London than in a long time back in Wiltshire.

“Julian,” she exclaimed with pleasure when he entered the room, Scroggins having retreated to his customary place somewhere near the front door. “I did not see you this morning and decided you had left town.” Or something equally serious, her tone implied.

“I arrived late and stood in the back. Are you more accepting of our coming marriage now that the first of the banns have been called?” he inquired with an intent study of her face. He reached out to touch an errant curl that had somehow managed to stand up and was quite out of place.

“Accepting?” Chloe met his look of regard with a wary gaze. “I made a promise to you, sir. I will not back out of that. I feel certain my mama will assist us, when she learns the entire story. There is no accepting involved, is there?” She gave him a candid look, wondering if the coming marriage was very dreadful for him. Acquiring the annulment might not be a simple task—cases could take a frightfully long time to be heard and decided in the Consistory Court. Of course, if he knew someone…

He gave her an odd look, then drew her along to sit on the sofa. Chloe perched as far from him as possible, uncomfortably aware of him and his intense maleness. He exuded a raw sort of power over her that frightened as well as fascinated her. For all that he was gentle and tender in his actions and words, she detected something that lay beneath his manner—something compelling. She dared not come too close to him or his attraction could lead her to behaving like an utter peagoose.

“Nice weather,” she chirped.

“If one considers a day turned dreary and misty as nice, then it is,” he said with an amused expression. He reached out to pick up her hand, touching the ring on her finger.

“Sirrah,” she cautioned, “it is not seemly for us to sit here like this, even if we are betrothed.”

“Call your maid to sit by the door,” he said, unsettling her completely with that smoldering look of his.

“I believe you are excessively mischievous,” she cried, jumping up as though his touch singed her. “And I suspect you enjoy teasing me.”

“I still believe we will rub together tolerably well once married,” he said, easing back against the sofa and looking far too enticing for Chloe’s peace of mind.

When the dowager walked into the room Chloe gave mental thanks, for she had discovered that she was far and away too susceptible to Julian St. Aubyn.

“Well, St. Aubyn, I heard you had come to call,” the dowager announced with definite disapproval in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am.” He politely rose from the sofa and bowed to Lady Dancy with utter correctness.

“Cancel the horse race, did they?” The dowager settled on the sofa where Chloe had perched not long before. Julian looked distinctly ill at ease, a reaction Chloe would not have thought possible.

“Race on a Sunday, ma’am? Hardly.”

“If you are trying to convince me that you are a saint in nature as well as name, you may as well forget it. Anyone who dallies with Elinor Hadlow cannot lay claim to any such thing.”

Chloe felt a warmth creep over her face and neck. Why did her grandmother harp on that subject? Was she perhaps trying to push Chloe into crying off, of handing the mitten to St. Aubyn so she could compel Chloe to marry Lord Twisdale? She had no illusions about her dear grandmother. The old lady was entirely too fond of having her own way.

Well, she would find that Chloe was now made of sterner stuff. “Grandmama, I feel certain that Julian would rather not discuss Aunt Elinor. Indeed, I am not fond of that topic, either. She is scarcely my favorite relative.”

Chloe sensed, rather than saw, the look of surprise Julian gave her.

The afternoon call went downhill from there. When Julian left, Chloe saw him to the door, then returned to face her grandmother.

“He wishes to take me for a drive if the weather improves.”

“I doubt it will. But if you desire to drive out with that scoundrel, who am I to deny you.”

“I should not wish to displease you,” Chloe retorted, much goaded by her grandmother’s wicked behavior.

“Ha! If you wished to please me, you would have accepted Lord Twisdale in the first place.”

Vexed and unable to denounce Lord Twisdale to a woman who had set her mind in a particular direction, Chloe returned to her needlework, stabbing the canvas with her needle in her frustration.

“I believe I shall make up a theater party for Tuesday. I will invite Lord Twisdale and Miss Spayne. Even if you are a foolish girl, Mrs. Spayne seems to have sufficient influence on her daughter so that Miss Spayne will do as told.” The dowager picked up her book of improving sermons and commenced to read.

Left to her thoughts, Chloe knew she must warn Laura about the added menace of Lady Dancy’s involvement. It was too bad that most every girl must marry where her parents ordered.

The clock ticked away the minutes into the silence of the room, disturbed only by the turning of pages and the rustle of the canvas while Chloe stitched. She glanced out from time to time to see the mist still swirling about the street, moisture dripping from the trees. She would not drive out with St. Aubyn today.

“Best go to your room and prepare for the evening. You have not forgotten that we go to supper at Lady Edgecumbe’s this evening?”

Chloe’s heart sank, for her grandmother belonged to a Bluestocking set which met all too frequently, it seemed to Chloe.

She obediently left the room, but vowed that first thing in the morning she would be off to see Laura. It was small comfort that she had a friend in whom to confide. It would be terrible if her grandmother were instrumental in the ultimate death of her friend—as Lord Twisdale’s second wife.

It was not to be that easy. Since her grandmother refused to discuss business on Sunday—and that included the plans for the upcoming wedding—she summoned Chloe at an early hour on Monday morning for her decree.

After revealing her plans for the intimate ball and supper party she intended to give Chloe—paid for out of Chloe’s funds, naturally—she stared at her granddaughter.

“You seem to accept your fate.”

“It is well I do, for there is no choice, is there?” Chloe said meekly before leaving the room.

Within fewer days than she would have believed, the moment for her betrothal supper and ball had arrived.

St. Aubyn’s father arrived early with him and Chloe could see that Julian’s charm was most assuredly inherited.

“Lady Chloe, I am well pleased with my son’s choice of bride,” he said, studying her from eyes quite like Julian’s. With a twinkle creeping into them, he added, “It is about time he settled down. By his age I had a fine son.”

“St. Aubyn, you put her to the blush,” Grandmother said, for once speaking quietly.

After that bit of teasing, nothing could upset her in the least, not even when Julian took her by her hand to lead her out in the first dance following the agreeable supper party.

The strains of the prerequisite minuet began to drift over the modestly filled room. Julian took her properly gloved hand into his and led her through the figures of the dance, gracefully bowing and twirling about in stately decorum. She fluttered her lashes at him when she thought her grandmother was not watching.

“Baggage,” he whispered as he drew her close in one of the figures.

“You would not wish me to use my fan, surely,” she countered with a smile.

“I shall make a point to win on the score of flirting,” he shot back when next he came close to her.

Chloe shivered with delighted anticipation.

Once the dance was over, Chloe was besieged with partners, all mostly friends of Julian’s. Theo was first and when they joined in a rousing reel, he commented, “I daresay you will be a good influence on him.”

“Never say so.” Chloe could not help but laugh at the image of her schooling St. Aubyn into a model husband. Yet there was a little ache in her heart for she knew that all this fuss was really for nothing. As soon as her mama returned…

And then she was bidding her guests farewell.

Grandmother had cornered the elder St. Aubyn in the corner—no doubt complaining of his son’s shrewd bargaining at the settlement table. They were still chatting when the last guest left the house. Chloe debated on whether to say anything, then turned to Julian.

“I will go up to my room now, for I am tired—as you must be. I trust you can convince your father and my grandmother that the hour is late. Our wedding is tomorrow and I would look well for it.” She avoided meeting his gaze, for he had said nothing about how they were to resolve the matter of the annulment. She had done her part, and set the stage for a charge of fraud.

“You may be certain that you will look as pretty as any flower blooming,” Julian said with charm and grace.

“Well, as to that, I hope I do not sneeze. Would that not be dreadful? I, Chloe, take thee, sneeze?”

Julian murmured something in agreement, then watched his bride-to-be resolutely march up the stairs.