Miss Featherton's Christmas Prince (The Marriage Game Book 9) (5 page)

A few minutes later, he was shown into an upstairs parlor and announced. “Godmamma.”

“Hawksworth.” She presented her powdered cheek for him to kiss. “What brings you here at such an ungodly hour?”

“It is past one o’clock in the afternoon.” Stifling a grin, he lowered himself onto one of her delicate chairs. “I require information, and I believe you are the best person to ask.”

She reached over and tugged the bell-pull. “We shall have tea, and you will tell me what you have been up to. By then I will be in the correct frame of mind to answer your questions.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He folded his hands on his lap, chastised.

The tea tray arrived filled with sandwiches and biscuits. Damon took several of the sandwiches. He would not want her to think he didn’t appreciate the offer of food, and he was hungry.

“I hear that you visited your mother’s family before returning home?”

He hid his surprise by draining his tea-cup. He had thought only his step-mother knew about that. “Yes, to my father’s infinite displeasure.”

“One would suppose”—Lady Bellamny’s tone was supercilious—“that after sending you off to war, your father would have better sense than to think he could demand your obedience. I have never found military men to be particularly disposed to take orders from civilians.”

“He
is
a duke,” Damon replied in his driest tone. He did not like to discuss his father, even with her.

“And you, my dear, are a Greek prince.”

She refilled his cup, and he saluted her with it. “Has no one ever told you that Greek princes are thick on the ground? It is true, actually.”

“They might be, but not all of them are in the succession,” she retorted. “Your father’s stance might make more sense if you did not own any property in Greece. However, I am well aware of not only your holdings but the funds that made up your mother’s estate. All of which went to you upon her death.”

“And about which my father neglected to inform me until two years ago when I was facing a battle the next day.”

“In fairness”—she grimaced, giving him the impression that she would rather not be fair to his father—“he could hardly
know
you were about to go into battle when you received the news.” He opened his mouth, and she held up her hand. “Although you were at war, and being in a battle is not unexpected.”

“Precisely.” At the time, Damon had been so angry he would have gladly throttled his father. By his mother’s settlement agreements, he had come into the properties when she died, and the trust had ended when he was one and twenty. Yet his father had kept the information from him until one of his Greek relatives contacted a solicitor who threatened to send him the news if the duke did not. Disappointment and bitterness still burned in him over his father’s deception. He had been made to memorize every piece of property down to the smallest item he would receive if he lived to become duke, but what he inherited from his mother had been kept secret. Even though he had been very young, Damon had never had the impression that his father hated his mother so much as to deny him any part of her. Yet that seemed to be the case.

“Now.” Lady Bellamny placed her tea-cup on the low table between them. “What can I help you with?”

He gave himself an inner shake before answering. “Miss Featherton. I wish to know how close she actually was to receiving an offer from Tarlington.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Is there a reason you ask?”

“Her grandmother is a dear friend of mine. I consider it my duty to keep an eye on her.”

Fair enough. “As you know, I lurked through most of last Season, and I have been actively looking for a possible wife most of this Season. Yet by the time you introduced us, Tarlington was courting her. I am interested in her and would like to know what I’m up against.”

Lady Bellamny fixed Damon with a basilisk gaze. “He had spoken to her father.”

Damon fought down the strong urge to swear long and fluently in several languages, but his godmother would probably box his ears, and he needed her assistance. “What happened?”

“Sometime before Tarlington was to propose to Miss Featherton, she was given information about his mistress and children. He will never marry the woman, but neither would he have cut the connection with her. He is now in Paris pursuing an American heiress. The plain fact of the matter is that his pockets are to let. His father and grandfather ran the estates down, and he must find a way to build them back up. Under the circumstances, marrying an heiress is his best choice.”

Bloody hell.
“I understand.”

“That is not all.” Her lips had thinned to the point of disappearing.

“Isn’t that enough?” What else could the man have done?

“Last spring, Swindon was courting her.”

“I’m not familiar with him.”

“Doesn’t run in your circles. He is violent with women.”

“He beats them?”

“He is a flagellant and almost killed his last mistress.”

Bloody, bloody hell!
“I gather she discovered that as well?”

Lady Bellamny gave one short nod. “Yes.”

His blood began to boil. “Did he touch her?”

“No. He is not stupid enough to do anything before marriage. When Featherton found out what the man was, he made it clear that if Swindon ever attempted to court another gently bred lady, his reputation would be destroyed.”

Thank God for that. No wonder Miss Featherton didn’t trust Damon or men in general. He demolished the last biscuit, then rose. “Thank you.”

His godmother looked up at him. “What do you intend to do?”

“Win her trust. It will be hard, but at least now I know what I’m up against.”

After a few moments she said, “I would not object to the match. She will be at my house party.”

“So I have been given to understand.” He leaned down and bussed her cheek. “Thank you, Godmamma. Be assured that no matter what happens, I will never hurt her in any fashion.”

Lady Bellamny patted his cheek as she had when he was a boy. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

Damon strode out of the house, wondering how to approach a lady who had been betrayed in two such brutal ways in a matter of months. Well, he had just over thirty days to formulate a plan of attack. Something was bound to come to him.

T
he next afternoon, Almeria poured tea, passing the cups to Constance and Lucinda. “I have sent an invitation to Lady Grantville and her family for most of the outings and events I have planned. They live so close there is no reason for them to stay with me. Their oldest son, Throughgood, is such a nice young man. I am sure he will get on well with the younger people.”

“What a wonderful idea.” Lucinda selected a cake from the plate. “It will also allow the Grantvilles to start meeting people. It is a shame they did not come for the Season, but I understand trying to accustom oneself to a new life.” A gleam entered her eyes. “I believe Throughgood is interested in Miss Hiller. At least, I saw him with her in the Park a few times. I do wish my daughter-in-law had not decided to hie off to the country so soon. Getting out around Town would have done Meg more good than sitting at home licking her wounds.”

“A shame she is taking the business about Tarlington so hard.” Constance’s tone was gruffer than usual. They had all been affected by Meg’s disappointments. “I thought she might come around more quickly than she is.”

Since last Season, Lucinda had favored Hawksworth for Meg. But until Almeria and her friends had discovered that Tarlington was almost bankrupt and had a longtime mistress, Lucinda was content to allow her granddaughter to select her own husband. “There was no help for it, and we were obliged to warn Meg. She would never have simply accepted her father’s decree that she not wed the man.” Lucinda’s lips thinned and anger flashed in her fine blue eyes. “It is Swindon I’d like to run through.”

“Indeed.” Constance thumped her silver-headed malacca cane on the carpet. “Men such as he should not look for wives, or not innocent ones. However, I believe Hawksworth will do splendidly for her.”

“I have thought so since he returned to England. If we had not been so busy with Kit and Mary, Meg would have been settled by now. Hawksworth is up to her weight and will make an excellent husband. Almeria, are you not some sort of relation to Somerset?”

“A third cousin once removed, but we do not get on. Despite his animosity toward me, the boy’s mother insisted I stand as one of his godmothers.” Almeria agreed that Meg needed a strong man, and Hawksworth was just that. “Hawksworth stopped by to visit me yesterday, and I told him about Swindon and Tarlington. This will finally give him something to do other than visit his tailor and attend sporting events. I believe he is bored to death.”

“Not unheard of for military men.” Lucinda reached for another biscuit. “It is a shame his father cannot give up the reins even a little. Having an estate to manage would be good for him.”

Constance, who had been listening for the most part, finally asked, “Who else have you invited?”

“Miss Riverton and her betrothed, Lord Darby, the Fotheringales, Lord and Lady Smithson . . .” She rattled off several other couples, and ended triumphantly with her greatest coup. “And the Marquis and Marchioness of Merton.”

“Smithsons?” Constance frowned. “Why would you invite them?”

“As a favor to Smithson’s great-aunt.”

“Other than the Smithsons, the guests are unexceptional.” Lucinda clapped her hands. “But, Almeria, how did you convince the Mertons? They never leave their estate during the Christmas holidays.”

“They will only be there for the first week. Then, of course, they have duties at home, but I am praying that is long enough. They will bring their son, and you know how the presence of a young child will turn a lady’s mind toward marriage.”

“Yes, of course,” Constance said, nodding. “A brilliant scheme.”

Even though Almeria had assisted in her friends’ other matchmaking efforts, for her this one was more important than all the others. Since Hawksworth’s mother’s death, it appeared as if the Duke of Somerset had lost interest in his firstborn and heir at best, or was actively hostile to the boy at worst. She wished she knew what had got into the man.

If she fell in love with him, Meg Featherton would be the perfect wife for Damon. She and her family would provide him the familial stability he did not have at his own home.

The problem would be bringing Meg around. Having the Mertons there would help, but Almeria was counting on the magic of Christmas to assist as well.

 

The past month at home at Granby Abbey had been torture for Meg. Even though none of her sisters, brothers, or parents had said a word, she could feel their pity that yet another gentleman had turned out to be a cur. Meg pulled on her gloves before taking the large ermine muff from a maid. Hendricks had left earlier so that she would be at Lady Bellamny’s when Meg arrived.

If only Kit and Mary had decided to stay at home for a while longer, but they had traveled almost immediately to Northumberland from London.

Nevertheless, Meg, now dressed in a new Pompeian red cashmere gown with an ermine-lined red velvet cloak, was more than ready to depart.

Having stated that the coach was comfortable, and she wanted the door opened as infrequently as possible, Mrs. Hiller and Amanda were waiting in the carriage for the journey.

When Meg entered the coach, the first thing she noticed was the joy in her friend’s eyes. Amanda too must be glad for a break, but Meg sensed it was something more. Amanda had been in a very good mood since she and her family had returned from Town a little over a week ago. Every time Meg queried her, Amanda would only shake her head and say it was early days. Ever since Tarlington, it seemed as if she had grown more distant to Meg. If only she knew how to bring back their closeness. Maybe being together for Christmas would help mend whatever rift there was between them.

The door closed, and Mrs. Hiller gave the order to start. “We should arrive late this afternoon. I have brought books and games to entertain you girls.”

Although cold, the day was sunny, and as neither Amanda nor Meg had been on this particular route before, they spent the first hour or so watching the countryside and commenting on the towns and villages. After that palled, they chose books over board games. Other than the sound of the horses and wheels, silence descended on the coach.

The time at home had served to make Meg more certain than ever that marriage with a quiet and undemanding gentleman would be the best thing for her. She would never be able to give her heart away again. Even now, unbidden tears sprung to her eyes at odd moments, and the ache in her chest threatened to stop her breath. Surely one did not truly die of a broken heart.

It was a shame she had not had an opportunity to present her proposal to Lord Throughgood before leaving Town. Other than the flowers she had received, she had not heard from him again. However, she had given it careful thought. She must be truthful with him. It would not do to have him fall in love with her when she could not return his affections.

She stared at the page, reading the same lines over again, and against her will, Lord Hawksworth’s visage invaded her thoughts. In some ways he reminded her of Tarlington and, to some extent, Swindon. Both had been dashing and worldly.

Yet Lord Hawksworth was worse. He was a confusing enigma, which was the very last thing she needed in her life. His flights of fancy in fashion were not as extreme as some, and what he wore was copied by many gentlemen aspiring to be Dandies. Yet he also appeared to be a notable Corinthian. Generally, the two groups did not get on well at all, but he managed to be successful at both. Not to mention that he was dangerously handsome. There must be a flaw somewhere, and it was bound to be a huge one. Every gentleman she knew who was too perfect turned out to have the worst failings.

Meg turned to the window and blew out a breath. No, Lord Throughgood would be much better. It was too bad her mother had an aversion to a parent’s arranging matches. Her father contacting his father would have made life a great deal easier. As it was, Meg was going to have to approach his lordship herself. If he was as conventional as she hoped he was, he could think she was much too bold, and that wouldn’t do at all. Well, fiddlesticks. She had to do something, or she would end up a spinster.

Although there was no snow on the roads, the weather had turned increasingly bitter and low dark clouds hid the sun and hung overhead as if they would fall on them at any moment, and the scent of the air had changed.

Mrs. Hiller had arranged a luncheon along the way, but after her coachman began predicting snow before long, she hurried them through the meal, anxious to arrive before they were caught in a storm.

They arrived at Bellsville Court, the Bellamnys’ principal estate, as the first fat, wet flakes began to fall, blurring her view of the old red-brick manor house. Despite the hour being only shortly after two o’-clock, candles gleamed through the mullioned glass windows of one room. The old Elizabethan house had four floors, cellars, and two wings, but cozy was the description that came to Meg when she gazed at it.

Lady Bellamny greeted them as the coach drew up. “Come in and have something warm to drink. We are in the drawing room.”

After they removed their outer garments, she led them to a long rectangular room. Windows flanked one side, fireplaces anchored each end of the room, and thick carpets muffled their feet as they entered.

“We” included a youngish couple with a child of about three years who was currently knocking down the blocks of the structure his father built for him. Meg had never seen the Mertons in such an informal setting before. Lord Merton swooped his son up in his arms and bowed. “A pleasure to see you ladies.”

“You as well, my lord.” Meg curtseyed, as did Amanda and Mrs. Hiller.

Meg moved over to the closest fireplace, stretching her hands out to warm them. Lady Merton was at the other end of the room in close conversation with a tall, scholarly looking man.

“Mama,” Amanda said, “do you know who is with Lady Merton?”

“That is Lord Bellamny, my dear.”

“I’ve never seen him before.”

Neither had Meg, and she had been to Lady Bellamny’s townhome many times. “Why does he not come to Town?”

“He chooses to remain here or on one of their other estates. When I came out they were held up as the perfect example of an arranged match between people with contrary interests. They had been wed several years at that time. My mother told me that he was fascinated with Lady Bellamny and did attempt a Season or two, but truly disliked London. She was such a social being that he would not refuse his wife her pleasure.”

“How selfless of him.” Where, Meg wondered, were gentlemen such as Lord Bellamny now?

“Yes, it is, but you mustn’t think she has all the benefit. She is quite devoted to him and spends a great deal of time in Town advancing his scientific ideas through her political entertainments.”

The echoing of a carriage coming up the drive, then the front door opening, reached the drawing room. A few minutes later the Marquis of Hawksworth was announced.

Meg froze, not daring to turn around. This could not be happening to her. The one gentleman she wished to avoid was here and would be living in the same house for weeks!

Miss Hiller nudged Meg’s elbow, and she turned to curtsey, but her gaze was glued to the extremely broad smile on Amanda’s face. Had she known he would be present? Was this the reason for her happiness? Meg could not allow her friend to fall for a man such as Hawksworth. A man who must have dangerous secrets he was hiding.

Hawksworth leaned down, whispered in Amanda’s ear, and she giggled. Had it been possible, Meg would have dragged her friend out by the ear. She glanced around, wondering why Mrs. Hiller didn’t do something, yet the lady barely appeared to notice his entrance. Well, someone needed to stop Amanda from making the mistake of her life.

Meg straightened, marched forward, and curtseyed. “My lord.”

Damon’s gaze had immediately been drawn to Miss Featherton; however, Miss Hiller had reached him first, and he had a message for her from Throughgood. Damon squeezed Miss Hiller’s fingers, handing her the note that had been folded into a triangle. Throughgood and his family had been invited to dine with Lady Bellamny, and he had wanted Miss Hiller to meet him early in the drawing room. Damon had agreed to pass the message. After flashing Damon a shy smile, she moved out of the way, grasping the precious message in her closed hand.

After the Feathertons had left Town, he, Throughgood, and Miss Hiller had become more than merely good friends. After seeing them together, Damon apologized to Throughgood for not thinking that Miss Hiller was a good choice for him. The two complemented one another perfectly. They had also pledged their help in bringing Miss Featherton around.

Now here she was before him, and looking extremely militant. For the life of him, he could not think what he had done to get on her bad side.

He bowed. “Miss Featherton, it is always a pleasure to meet you again.”

“Thank you.” Her lips moved twice or three times, as if she would say something more, but as Lady Bellamny was almost upon them, Miss Featherton made a strategic retreat back to the fireplace.

She was obviously not going to make getting close to her easy, and he had not been able to formulate a scheme to approach her. Nevertheless, he’d always loved a challenge, and when he won her, this one would be exceptionally sweet.

His godmother embraced him, kissing him on both cheeks. “I’m glad you arrived before the weather got any worse.” Linking her arm in his, she led him to a table where drinks and food had been set up. “I have brandy, or you might prefer the spiced wine. My chef is from France and makes it in their style.”

“The wine, please.” He’d been partial to hot spiced wine since he’d first tried it in northern Spain. Taking the glass, he thanked her. “You are keeping country hours, I trust.”

“Naturally. As you should know, my husband would cavil loudly and long if I made him wait for his dinner. How was your drive here?”