The Madcap Marriage (7 page)

Helen threw herself on Rafe. “Are you all right?”  Her hands searched for damage.

“Fine,” he croaked, shakily sitting up.

Steven twisted, trying to escape.

“See him to the street,” ordered Rafe. “If he returns, truss him up and take him to Bow Street. I’ll swear out a complaint for assault.”

“You won’t get away with this!” screamed Steven as Jameson and Paul each twisted an arm behind him and dragged him to the door. “I’ll see you in hell!”

Rafe ignored him. His head throbbed, and he had to concentrate to pull air past his bruised throat, but one thought remained uppermost. Sir Steven was a bigger threat than even Helen had claimed. He had to protect her.

And not just from Steven. The son was worse. He fingered his scarred cheek, recalling another fight. At least that one had garnered admiration from his peers. Today must make him seem weak, inviting Helen to take charge. He couldn’t allow that or he would face a lifetime of battles. Pulling himself together, he headed for the brandy decanter.

* * * *

The moment Steven left, Helen’s knees gave out. Spots danced before her eyes.

“Drink,” ordered Rafe, rising to shove a glass into her hand. “You’ve had a shock.” He drained his own.

She complied. The brandy burned all the way to her stomach, but it cleared her head. Steven had come to see Rafe. Her own presence had been a surprise.

“My guardian?” she demanded, glaring. “How interesting that you didn’t mention that little detail.” Her guardian would know about her trust. Rafe must have thought he’d won the lottery the moment he’d heard her name. No wonder he’d insisted on accompanying her to the bank. He expected to twist her trustees around his thumb – and might already have done so. How had he arrived so providentially outside the church?

Rafe shook his head. “I don’t know where he got that idea. It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Right.” She swallowed more brandy.

He frowned. “I suppose it’s possible. Alquist married my mother’s sister. We’ve been close for ten years.”

“But you were at his burial. You must have seen his will. And he would hardly pass the duty without warning.” It wasn’t logical, yet Rafe’s eyes seemed honestly puzzled. Was he truly ignorant or a better actor than even Alex had been?

“I rode down to Hampshire immediately after his death,” he admitted. “But my aunt’s grief made mine so unbearable that I left from the churchyard. I wasn’t up to facing society, so I stopped in Oxford to visit a friend. When I arrived home yesterday, my father’s summons met me at the door. I was returning from Hillcrest Manor when we met.”

“I don’t see—”

“I didn’t stay to hear Alquist’s will – aside from a few books, I wasn’t expecting anything. His solicitor will have sent me the details, but I wasn’t here to receive mail.”

“Then let’s look at your mail.” She stood.

His desk was in a corner of the bedroom, stacked with a mountain of cards, unopened letters, and newspapers. So he’d spoken truly on that point.

“Why would he put you in charge of his ward without discussing the matter first?”  Such negligence seemed odd. Of course, Alquist had made no attempt to see her during his tenure as guardian, so perhaps he was heedless.

“How should I know?”  Rafe dropped into the desk chair. “Maybe his will offered an explanation.” He grabbed a stack of mail and started sorting.

Helen shrugged. The truth would come out eventually. Until then, she must guard herself. She picked up the
Morning Post
and moved closer to the window.

“The Regent created Wellington a duke,” she murmured moments later.

“Hardly a surprise.”

“I suppose not, now that the war is over.”

“Why don’t you help me sort these?  There should be something from Alquist’s solicitor even if Sir Steven lied about the guardianship.” His voice sounded odd.

“He wouldn’t lie about something so easy to check. He expected you to know about it. He came here to demand your assistance in finding your runaway ward.” Which meant that Steven had intercepted the letter notifying her of the change. She frowned. How many other letters—

“Are you sure he didn’t trace you here?”

“Positive. He was shocked to see me and concluded that he’d missed at least one letter – he must have been confiscating my mail. I’ve received nothing from Alquist since Father died. Not even a note of condolence.”

Rafe nodded. “Alquist would never ignore a duty – even an unwanted one. You can read the paper later, Helen. I need help. There are too many invitations. We must leave for the bank, but sorting this will take half the morning.”

“I doubt it. Besides, that errand is less urgent now. Steven will be too busy confirming our marriage to bother the trustees yet. I haven’t read a paper in months – Steven wouldn’t allow it. It’s a pleasure I’ve missed.”

Rafe sorted faster, scattering invitations right and left as he searched for personal letters.

Helen turned a page. “The allied leaders will arrive next month to celebrate Napoleon’s abdication, but this story gives no details. Do you know what is planned?  I’ve been so out of touch since Father died that I’m amazed I even know the war is over.”

“The details will probably be in last week’s papers.” He gestured to the pile.

“I’ll look when I’ve finished this one.”

More invitations slid to the floor. Rafe seemed almost panicked in his search for the letter, but she ignored the thought, more interested in reading.

“Aha!” he exclaimed suddenly. “This must be it.” A seal cracked.

But her eyes stared at the name that had leaped out when she turned the page. “My God!”  Her heart crashed to the floor. “You’re betrothed to Alice Pauling!”  She glared. Steven had mentioned Miss Pauling. An heiress.

“No, I’m not.” But his face was red.

“It says so right here. Lord Pauling of Paulus Grange, Surrey, announces the betrothal of his daughter, the honorable Alice Elaine Pauling, to the honorable Mr. Rafael Edward Thomas of Hillcrest Manor, Surrey. Nuptials are scheduled for June the seventh.”

“I – am –
not
– betrothed.” It sounded as if he were talking through gritted teeth.

“Are you accusing the editor of the
Morning Post
of fabricating the story?”  She tapped the paper. “Who is she?”

“A neighbor, but that doesn’t—”

She slammed down the paper. “How dare you wed me when you are promised to another?”

“It’s not like that, Helen. Sit down.” He sighed.

Since he looked exasperated rather than dangerous, she complied. But her heart pounded harder than ever, worsening her headache. The day had already served up too many shocks, and it was barely eight.

“Thank you.” Rafe laid aside his letter. “I started to tell you about this at breakfast.”

She frowned, recalling that he’d interrupted when she’d tried to warn him about Steven.

“I’ve refused this match repeatedly for ten years,” he continued. “Our fathers are the ones pushing it. Hillcrest submitted the announcement without my knowledge or consent.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth. I told you about yesterday’s summons. When I arrived, he announced that he’d made the arrangements despite my continued refusals.”

“No father would treat his son so shabbily.”

“Hah!  He’s hated me since the day I was born.”

“I don’t believe it.” She raised her chin, which usually prompted men to take her seriously.

“Believe it.” He glared. “He hated my mother, too. The price of his affection has always been repudiation of Mother. He’s added other conditions over the years – like abandoning London. He believes it is a godless place brimming with degenerates. Since I choose to live here…”  He shrugged.

“But that doesn’t explain this.” She tapped the paper. “Does he hate Miss Pauling, too?”

“Of course not, but her feelings don’t concern him. He wants her dowry. Paulus Grange is a prosperous estate that would more than double Hillcrest’s holdings. He’s coveted it since childhood. Pauling is ill and easily swayed. Since Hillcrest abhors scandal, he expects me to avoid raising one. He refuses to accept that scandal doesn’t bother me. We had a flaming row when I repudiated the match yet again.”

Flaming row.
Her heart sank. That was why he’d proposed. She’d appeared when he was in the throes of rebellion, something he would soon regret. So she could not rely on him.

Rafe ran his fingers through his hair. “I was heading for my solicitor’s office to see if he could quash the announcement when I met you. Hillcrest will never listen. I’m tired of battles. Marriage ended the war once and for all.”

“Why me?”

“You are intelligent and competent, will never turn weepy or demanding, possess beauty and breeding, and I love your hair.”

His words seemed glib. How could anyone determine intelligence on five minutes’ acquaintance – while drunk?  How could he claim she’d be undemanding when she’d made demands from the first –
take me to Berkeley Square … take me to Formsby’s Bank
. She’d all but begged him to save her from Steven. And while she hadn’t shed tears, she’d been very close.

His eyes were the color of slate today, swirling with emotion she couldn’t read. His apparent sincerity meant nothing. Alex had always sounded sincere, even the day he’d poured out his love and devotion between searing kisses and passionate caresses, swearing she was the most beautiful, most fascinating, most exciting miss in the realm. Two days later, he’d abandoned her without a word.

She could believe Rafe’s fury. He harbored a stubborn streak. If Hillcrest had truly sent the notice without warning, Rafe would see red. But that didn’t mean that he opposed the match, only that he wanted to make his own decisions. If Hillcrest hadn’t been so heavy-handed, Rafe might have wed Alice long since. They’d known each other for years and might be deeply in love – like Clara’s husband and his impoverished neighbor.

Which boded ill for the future. She did not want a man who preferred another. In truth, she wanted a husband who loved her, though she could hardly cavil on that score. She had wed Rafe solely to escape Steven and Dudley, so there was no question of love on her part, either. Yet a loveless marriage was a far cry from one to a man who loved another.

But there was no point in continuing this discussion. Rafe would deny an attachment regardless of his feelings, justifying the lie as necessary to protect her delicate sensibilities. So she must take every word with a grain of salt.

“What does the solicitor say?”

“Sir Steven was right. I’m your guardian. But Alquist never mentioned you.”

“Why?”

“I’ve no idea. How well did you know him?”

“I met him once or twice as a child. We lived in London in those days, but callers rarely came to the nursery. He visited Audley a few times, but I was away at school.” Or not allowed to mingle with house-party guests. “He did not attend Papa’s funeral. And if he sent condolences, I did not see them.” The situation seemed surreal. What fate had thrust her into her guardian’s arms?

“He sent condolences. He would never neglect a duty, even if he didn’t care, but it was not like him to leave me responsibilities without warning. Granted, he was in good health and expected to live many years, but he was a stickler for planning ahead.” He sighed. “We can ponder his motives later. Are you ready to face the dressmaker?”

She nodded.

“Good.” He bit his lip. “Hillcrest’s announcement is bound to cause trouble, but we can minimize the scandal by addressing it after our marriage announcement appears tomorrow. I hope to wrest an apology from the editors for today’s mistake, which will make washing the family laundry in public unnecessary.”

“That seems reasonable.”

“Thank you. So you will remain Miss St. James for today?”

She nodded. Keeping the scandal to a minimum might also keep her tarnished reputation from coming out. Something else she must warn him about…

Later. So many things must wait until later.

Steven’s voice echoed.
Notorious fortune hunter
.

If they were to build any sort of partnership, Rafe must learn to know her first as an individual, not as an heiress. It was the only way to protect herself. Only an honest commitment to each other would keep her safe. Unless he cared, other emotions could rule – like greed. So she must do everything possible to win his heart, while praying she could trust him.

* * * *

As Rafe escorted Helen downstairs, he cursed his stupidity in forgetting that Paul would collect today’s paper along with breakfast. He should have hidden it until he’d made his confession. He’d known the damned thing would cause trouble.

But instead of explaining over breakfast, he’d turned coward, dawdling as he searched for words that would make his idiocy sound reasonable. Now it was worse.

He’d made a muck of marriage already. Despite his long-stated desire for an intelligent wife, he’d treated her like a widgeon.

He’d been wrong. She might be a country miss, but her eyes had gleamed the moment she’d spied the papers. She’d turned first to politics and international news, skimming the society page last. In that respect, she was much like Alquist.

Fate had chosen his wife well.

Unfortunately, his ham-fisted handling had eroded her trust. It would take time and skill to restore it. And more courage than he’d shown to date. Helen would not accept platitudes. He could only pray that he could rectify matters before she decided to take charge. She’d shown a lamentable streak of independence – fleeing Christchurch, insisting on going out despite her injuries, confronting Sir Steven head-on. It could lead to serious clashes if not checked. However alone she’d been since her parents’ deaths, she now had a husband to look after her. It was time she recognized that.

Chapter Four

Helen paced Mademoiselle Jeanette’s elegantly appointed fitting room while an assistant lengthened a mourning gown. Rafe had stayed in the carriage so their names would not be linked before tomorrow’s announcement – or so he claimed. But the real reason was probably cowardice. He must have known his name would be on every tongue. He was more notorious than even Steven had implied.