Regency: Rakes & Reputations (Mills & Boon M&B) (39 page)

As Sophie’s bitter accusations assailed his memory once again, Marcus flinched. Shaking his head in weary rebuttal of his brother’s uncannily accurate construal of that unpleasant scene, he said, ‘I’d just as soon not discuss the matter any longer, if it’s all the same to you, Giles. Suffice to say that I was deeply concerned about the lady’s situation and merely harboured a desire to see her in a more fitting environment. However, since Miss
Pendleton-Flint has elected not to accept my offer of help, the subject, as far as I am concerned, is now well and truly closed.’

‘Sounds rather more than just a business arrangement you were offering the unfortunate lass, if I’m any judge,’ Giles retaliated, as he headed for the door. ‘However, enough of your problems. I fear my bed is calling me.’ Pulling open the door, he hesitated slightly, then, turning back to face his brother once more, he added, a sly grin forming on his face, ‘Although, after what I’ve gathered from your singular obsession with her, it occurs to me that you might just as well go the whole hog and marry the girl, if you want my opinion!’

‘Which I don’t!’ retorted Marcus, as Giles stepped hurriedly out into the corridor and closed the door behind him.
I can just picture Father’s face if I walked in and announced my intention of legshackling myself to a down-and-out nobody who has been forced into earning her living as a governess,
he thought scathingly, as he wrenched off his damaged pantaloons and dived under the coverlet of his large four-poster.

Not that there was anything at all dishonourable about having to earn one’s living as a governess,
he then amended, somewhat shamefaced that such an idea should have even crossed his mind.
In fact
, he reflected, as the image of Sophie’s sweet smile drifted into his mind,
if one were to consider it objectively, dedicating oneself to the education of young children might well be considered to be rather an honourable profession. And as for being a nobody—why, hadn’t her father been a highly decorated lieutenant-colonel in one of His Majesty’s top hussar regiments? One could hardly class such a fellow as a nobody. And, whilst Sophie’s upbringing may have been a touch irregular by conventional
standards, it was abundantly clear that her parents had made no concessions, insofar as strict discipline and correct standards of behaviour were concerned—as he, to his eternal damnation, was well able to testify!

As the memory of those discomfiting episodes surfaced once more, Marcus let out a loud groan and, rolling over onto his stomach, buried his head in his pillow in an effort to blot out the deeply disturbing images that continued to assail his thoughts. But it was no good. The harder he tried to rid his head of all thoughts of Sophie, the more his wayward brain insisted upon seducing his mind’s eye with yet another tantalising depiction of her presence: Sophie in that hideous lace cap—Sophie washing dishes—Sophie throwing snowballs—feeding ducks—swans…God! Was there nothing in the world that didn’t remind him of the woman?

And then, like a clarion call, his brother’s closing shot resurfaced in his mind. He shot upright, his heart pounding in rapid disorder. Dragging in a deep breath, he flung back his bedclothes, heaved his legs over the side of the bed and, for several long moments just sat there, totally impervious to the chill night air as it wafted over his naked flesh, scarcely able to comprehend the impossible thought that had succeeded in worming its way into his brain.

‘Damned if I don’t do just that!’

No sooner had he spoken the words out loud than everything seemed to fall neatly into place. It was really quite simple, now that he had really given the matter some thought. He had to marry some time, after all; for months now his father been pressing him to attend to his duties and responsibilities as heir to the estate and, rather than settle for one of a number of mealy-mouthed, whey-faced debutantes, fresh from the schoolroom,
whose names were sure to figure on his parents’ list of suitable bride fodder, he would shackle himself to Sophie Pendleton-Flint!

The more Marcus thought about it, the more appealing the whole idea seemed. As far as he was concerned there was nothing about Sophie that might prohibit her from becoming his Viscountess. She was not only lovely to look at; she was graceful, intelligent and endowed with a rare common sense to which decidedly few females of his acquaintance could lay claim. But, above all else, she was the most fascinating creature that he had come across in all his days.

And so utterly desirable, of course. It was difficult to recall his ever having wanted any woman as badly as he wanted Sophie; his whole body ached with desire just at the thought of making her his wife. He had handed both of his regular mistresses their
congées
without a single pang of regret, since neither Cynthia’s pert blonde curvaceousness nor the doe-eyed Livvy’s sultry Latin magnetism had the power to captivate him any longer; only the warm glow of a pair of summer blue eyes and the promise of untamed flowing chestnut tresses now had that ability.

Sliding under the covers again, he lay back and closed his eyes, ready for sleep at last, satisfied that the only hurdle that stood in the way of his future plans was his father’s possible opposition. Once he’d dealt with that problem, he mused idly, as he felt himself drifting off to sleep, it merely remained to acquaint Sophie with his revised proposal …

As it turned out, both the Earl and the Countess were so relieved to see their elder son safely returned to the fold after such an extended absence that it was some
little while before he was able to turn their attention to the subject that had been exercising his mind since the moment he had surfaced from the highly erotic dreamworld of his slumbers.

‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, in answer to his mother’s anxious query as to how long he intended to remain at Bradfield on this occasion, ‘I do have something of an announcement to make—I trust it will meet with your approval.’ Pausing, he dragged in a deep breath, conscious of the questioning stares of his listeners. ‘I am pleased to inform you all that I have decided to take a wife.’

The astounded silence that followed this declaration was broken only by Giles’s spluttering cough as the piece of ham he had been chewing became lodged in the back of his throat, threatening to choke him.

Getting to his feet and striding around the breakfast table to administer a hefty thump to his brother’s back, thereby relieving his discomfort, Marcus took the opportunity to shoot the scarlet-faced Major a warning look, indicating that
he
would be the one to decide about which aspects of Sophie’s history his parents might need to be apprised.

Resuming his seat, he turned to face his still stunned father and said, ‘In case you might be wondering, sir, the lady’s name is Miss Sophie Pendleton-Flint. It is my intention to bring her to meet you both sometime in the very near future. I would be glad to have your assurances that you will be prepared to receive my—fiancée—and welcome her into the family.’

A suspicious glint in his eye, the Earl regarded his son silently for some moments before saying, ‘Somewhat out of character for you, isn’t it, this sudden need to observe the proprieties?’

Swallowing the retaliatory retort that had instantly sprung to his lips at his father’s contentious barb, Marcus curled his fingers tightly round the stem of his glass. ‘Comes to all of us in the end, I dare say,’ he said, striving to maintain his temper. ‘I should have thought you would be glad to hear that I am finally prepared to meet your demands and relieve you of some of the burdens you carry.’

‘Enough, you two. I beg of you!’ interposed the Countess, reaching out to grasp hold of her son’s clenched fingers. ‘This is no time to re-enact past grievances! We must look to the future and I, for one, cannot wait to meet your chosen wife, Marcus. Miss—um—Pendleton-Flint, did you say? It is not a name I recognise—is the family new in Town?’

‘The lady is not one of the current crop of debutantes, if that’s what you’re asking,’ returned Marcus hurriedly, as he rose to his feet in preparation of quitting the room before either of his parents could embark upon a surfeit of awkward questions that he was not, in all conscience, fully confident that he was equipped to answer. ‘Suffice to say that she is twenty-three years of age and her father was, until his death at Waterloo, a greatly admired and highly revered lieutenant-colonel in one of His Majesty’s elite hussar regiments. And now, if you will please excuse me, I have a most pressing matter to attend to—I hope to be able to furnish you with further information regarding my forthcoming nuptials within the next day or so.’

Hardly had he left the room, however, before Bradfield, turning to his younger son, demanded, ‘Out with it, Giles! It’s quite clear that you know a good deal more about this matter than you are prepared to admit. Has that fool of a brother of yours got some young hussy in
the family way and thinks to present us with his by-blow, or what?’

‘Really, Edward!’ protested Lady Susanna, tossing down her napkin and getting to her feet. ‘You have spent the past month bemoaning the fact that Marcus refuses to come home and take up his duties, yet no sooner does he show his face than you are ready to malign him all over again. Little wonder he prefers to remain in Town with his friends. And now, when he has brought us this most thrilling piece of news—which, if I may be so bold as to remind you, is something we have been waiting to hear for some two years or more now—all you can do is reduce it to gutter level. You should be ashamed of yourself, referring to your son’s betrothed in such a tawdry manner!’

‘Calm yourself, my dear,’ exclaimed Bradfield, as he reached for his walking stick and levered himself up out of his chair. ‘I have no desire to distress you in any way, as you well know. But I surely do not need to point out that the boy seems to derive a great deal of pleasure from causing me as much aggravation as possible, and I fear that this latest ploy might well turn out to be yet another one of his—’

‘I think not, sir,’ put in Giles hastily, having registered his father’s rapidly heightening colour and taut neck muscles—both warning signs that pointed to a swift rise in the Earl’s blood pressure, a situation to be avoided at all costs, given the gentleman’s weakened heart condition. Whilst Marcus’s announcement had come as something of a bombshell to him, he had observed his brother’s cautionary glance and had resolved to keep his counsel. Now, however, torn between a real concern for his father’s health and a sense of loyalty towards his
older brother, he felt that it was impossible to remain totally silent.

‘I have met Miss Pendleton-Flint, sir,’ he said. ‘And I can assure you both that the young lady is, beyond question, entirely respectable.’

‘And Marcus really means to marry the girl?’

Hesitating only briefly, the Major nodded. ‘It would appear so,’ he confirmed.

‘Then this is truly wonderful news,’ exclaimed his mother, clapping her hands in delight and turning once again to her husband. ‘We must hold a ball to celebrate this great event, my dear!’

‘Best wait until Marcus gives you the all-clear on that, Mother,’ put in Giles hurriedly. ‘You know how he is apt to dig his heels in if he thinks he’s being coerced.’

‘Only too well,’ retorted the Earl moodily. ‘A more obstinate example of manhood I have yet to come across.’

He stood for some minutes, idly tapping his finger against his lips, then, turning, exclaimed, ‘I have it now! Pendleton-Flint! I had a feeling that the name rang a distant bell but I couldn’t quite place it.’

Giles, who had spent some time trying to track down Sophie’s father’s past history without success, hastened to his father’s side and, after helping him into a nearby chair, asked eagerly, ‘You were acquainted with the family, sir?’

‘Not as such,’ replied Bradfield, his brows knitting together in concentration as he endeavoured to dredge up a vague recollection from almost half a century earlier. ‘However, if my memory serves me aright, there was a chap at university—couple of years my senior, he was—name of Joseph Flint. Anyway, the
on dit
at the time was that this Flint fellow had been contracted in
marriage to the daughter of his father’s best friend—one Sir Jacob Pendleton by name. It appears that some sort of pact had been agreed between the two families when the youngsters were still in leading strings—something to do with the complicated entails of both estates, I believe. I wasn’t really that interested at the time. I do, however, have a pretty clear recollection of the fact that young Flint was expected to add the Pendleton name to his own upon the actual marriage.’ He frowned. ‘The Pendleton girl’s name escapes me, I’m afraid, although I do seem to remember being told that the poor lass died in childbed barely a year after the marriage had taken place.’

‘And the child—did the poor mite survive?’ the Countess was keen to know.

‘Must have done,’ Giles felt constrained to point out. ‘A son too, one presumes—otherwise the conjoined name could not have carried on this far.’ Then, turning back to his father, he asked, ‘Any idea from which part of the country these Flints and Pendletons hailed, sir?’

Lips pursed, the Earl again racked his brain. ‘Somewhere in the North Riding, I believe—Harrogate Spa, possibly—I vaguely recollect some tomfoolery regarding a proposed visit to the baths there. Flint seemed pretty well acquainted with the town, if I remember correctly.’

‘And this Pendleton fellow was a baronet, you say?’

‘Could have been merely a knight—can’t be certain, either way—although I definitely recall Flint referring to the fellow as
Sir
Jacob. You could try looking him up in an old Debretts, if you have a mind to, Giles. I believe
we still have a copy of the 1802 original somewhere in the library.’

At her husband’s words, the Countess beamed. ‘It would appear that Marcus’s betrothed might not be without a certain standing, then,’ she said, heaving a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Although why he feels the need to be so very cagey about the young lady, I really cannot imagine. One would think he had something to hide!’