The Marriage Lesson (21 page)

“If she was sensible, a great deal of money and a lofty title would do it.” Jocelyn gave him an assessing look. “At least you have that in your favor.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, wondering why wealth and a respectable title abruptly sounded less than admirable.

“If there were a child involved . . . ” Becky stopped and looked at him. “She isn’t—”

“No,” he said quickly, although that was certainly within the realm of possibility. “Not . . .  now.”

“However,” Jocelyn said thoughtfully, “if you were to get her with child, even Marianne would accept that she had no other choice but to wed.”

For a moment, no one spoke. It was definitely a plan, although, like any of his other plans regarding Marianne, not a very good one.

“I don’t believe—” he started.

“Probably not.” Jocelyn sighed.

“Definitely not.” Becky nodded firmly. “We have to think of something else.

The girls continued pacing. Thomas watched them warily. He did hope they could come up with something, because he hadn’t been able to thus far.

Abruptly Jocelyn stopped and clapped her hands together. “I’ve got it. What does Marianne want more than anything?”

“Blasted adventures,” he muttered.

“And excitement and travel to interesting places.” Becky blew an impatient breath. “We already know that.”

Becky and Thomas exchanged puzzled glances.

Jocelyn grinned. “She wants all that because that’s what she’s filled her life with. Stories. Books.”

Thomas shook his head. “I still don’t see—”

“I didn’t think you would.” Jocelyn rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

“I do,” Becky said slowly. “The way to capture Marianne’s hand is to make what she’s only read about come true.”

“Not what she’s read about, exactly.” Excitement colored Jocelyn’s voice. “But
who
she’s read about.”

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What?”

“Not what, who! You have to be a hero from a book.”

“Exactly.” Becky took her place beside her sister. “You have to be the kind of man she’s always dreamed of. The kind of romantic, adventurous man she wants. It’s an excellent idea.”

“And it could actually work.” Jocelyn looked at him as if judging him and finding him wanting. “If he can do it, of course.”

“He’s not terribly imaginative.” Becky shook her head.

Jocelyn shrugged. “Well, he will probably need help.”

“Would you stop speaking of me as if I were not in the room?” He’d had quite enough. “You have given me an idea and I think I can take it from here.”

The girls cast him identical looks of doubt.

Jocelyn snorted.

“Oh?” Becky scoffed. “What?”

“I realize you have no confidence in me whatsoever, but I assure you . . . ” He clenched his jaw. “Answer me this: In addition to explorers and the like who people her stories, are there not heroes who are simply dashing and romantic?”

“Of course,” Becky said.

“I can be dashing and romantic.”

“Really?” Jocelyn snickered. “We’ve only seen you stuffy and overprotective.”

“I have another side,” he said loftily.

“You’d better,” Becky muttered.

At once confidence filled him. He might not be precisely what Marianne thought she wanted, but when it came to the arts of seduction, and indeed romance, he was second to no man. He had won far harder hearts than hers.

He started to leave, then turned back. Something they’d said earlier stuck in his mind. “By the way, I am curious: Why did you mention the
Country Miss
stories?”

“No reason, really,” Becky said quickly.

“None at all,” Jocelyn chimed in, her expression innocent. “It just seemed similar.” Overly innocent.

He studied them carefully. He’d read the latest installment, of course, and had wondered idly how much wagered money had exchanged hands with the revelation of the innocent’s ruin. Now the ridiculous chit was refusing to wed Lord W, and it seemed to him . . . 

He sucked in a hard breath. It couldn’t be.

Do I truly wish to bind myself to a man for whom I am nothing more than an obligation of honor?

No, surely he was wrong.

I’ve written a bit myself.

Becky and Jocelyn bolted toward the door, Henry right at their heels.

A journal of sorts
.

“Stop right there.” His command echoed in the room.

All three skidded to a halt.

“We really should go,” Becky said.

“We have any number of things to take care of,” Jocelyn added. “You wouldn’t want us to keep Aunt Louella waiting.” They inched toward the door.

“Not another step!”

He’d never seen two females, and even the dog, look quite so guilty.

“I have a terrible suspicion you know something I should know.” His gaze slid from Becky to Jocelyn and back. “Please, please tell me Marianne is not the author of the
Country Miss
adventures.”

“Very well.” Becky smiled weakly. “She’s not the author.”

“I want the truth,” he roared.

“Make up your mind,” Jocelyn snapped. “Either you want the truth or you don’t. And I very much suspect you don’t. So why not leave it at that and we shall all be much happier?”

“I don’t want to be happy!” What had he done, to be saddled with a house full of irritating women? “I want the truth!”

“We thought she
had
made it all up,” Becky added.

“At least the parts about the kisses,” Jocelyn said.

“And the, well, rest of it,” Becky murmured.

Jocelyn shrugged. “Of course, we did help her with
Country Miss
a bit. And Lord W.”

“It was my idea to make her an orphan,” Becky offered. “And him a rake.”

Jocelyn shook her head. “No, those were my ideas.
You
suggested he ruin her.”

“Oh, dear, you’re right.” Becky winced. “How was I to know she’d actually do it rather than simply write about it?”

“She did want it to be accurate.” Jocelyn sighed.

“It appears she based her
Absolutely True Adventures
, at least loosely, on her absolutely true adventures.” Thomas paced the room. “Bloody hell, how could she? How could you let her?”

“We had little to say about it,” Becky said.

“You should have stopped her.”

“Come, now, my lord,” Jocelyn said, “do you really think we could have stopped Marianne from doing exactly what she pleased?”

“Still—”

“And furthermore, you needn’t blame us. Her
Absolutely True Adventures
wouldn’t be so absolutely true if you had kept your head about you,” Jocelyn snapped. “In point of fact, this is more your fault than anyone else’s.”

“What?” This was his fault? “I don’t . . .  I can’t . . . ”

“Look.” Jocelyn nudged Becky with her elbow. “He’s sputtering.”

“No.” Jocelyn shook her head thoughtfully. “Although you must admit he does turn an interesting shade of crimson.”

“More like a scarlet—”

“Quiet,” he bellowed. “Isn’t it enough that one of your family is doing all in her power to drive me insane? Must you join her?”

He drew a deep breath and forced a calm note to his voice. “Now, then, aside from the two of you, who else knows of this?”

“No one, as far as we know.” Becky paused. “Of course, Mr. Cadwallender does, but—”

“He’d never tell,” Jocelyn cut in. “Besides, he doesn’t know her real name.”

“That’s something, at any rate.” He blew a long breath. “If her true identity is discovered . . . ”

And I shall not rest until I find her.

Berkley!

The man was determined, and who knew how close he was to the truth. If Berkley found out, all of London would know in no time. Berkley had never been good at keeping his mouth shut. And if Marianne was identified as the country miss, it would be assumed Thomas was Lord W. Which, like it or not, he was.

Without doubt the first thing he had to do was cease the publication of Marianne’s stories. He couldn’t simply ask her to stop, of course; she’d never consent. No, he’d have to approach Cadwallender immediately. Whatever kind of man he was, a man, any man, surely would be more reasonable than Marianne.

“Now that you know everything, I was just wondering . . . ” Jocelyn hesitated.

“What now?” he said.

“This won’t affect our plans to attend your grandmother’s party in the country, will it?” Jocelyn said hopefully.

“We are quite looking forward to it.” Becky’s voice was eager. “Even Aunt Louella.”

Damnation, he’d quite forgotten about the dowager duchess’s party. Only war, death or absence from the country was a legitimate excuse for missing the annual event. Besides, Effington Hall, and its extensive park, was an excellent place for a dashing romantic hero.

“No, of course, we’ll go as planned at the end of the week,” he said absently, already wondering what he could offer Cadwallender to entice him to stop printing Marianne’s work.

He’d contact his solicitor at once to see what could be learned of the printer, and with luck Thomas would be able to call on the man this afternoon. Thomas would do whatever he had to do.

One way or another, the country miss’s adventures were over.

    *    *    *

Thus far, the amount she received for each installment had risen. If gossip alone was any indicator, the
Country Miss
stories were selling quite briskly. She could scarcely encounter one group or another at a soiree or rout where there was not some discussion about the unknown author and the still-unidentified Lord W.

She stood and stared down at the paper. Now it was imperative to speak to Cadwallender directly, to determine how much she could expect over the course of the next month.

When the season ended and Jocelyn, Becky and Aunt Louella returned to the country, Marianne would not be with them.

If she could double what she had to date received, her funding would take her as far as Italy. If she lived frugally, she’d be able to remain there for at least a few months. After that . . .  She shrugged. Well, uncertainty was the nature of adventure, wasn’t it?

She folded the paper, grabbed her wrap, peered out of her bedroom door, then slipped from her room and took the servants’ stairs to avoid any chance encounters with anyone—especially Thomas.

Thomas.

She sighed in spite of herself. How had she been so foolish as to think she could share his bed and not want more? And indeed he did offer more. Or at least marriage. His persistence was unyielding and so was her refusal.

She left by the servants’ door and headed for the corner where the hired carriage she’d arranged for this morning would be waiting.

She was determined to enjoy this time with Thomas. Helping him write his poetry and joining him in his bed. The arguments between them were as enjoyable as the laughter. It really was an adventure, if not one exactly as she’d expected. And she would remember their days together always.

Odd, how an emotion she’d never particularly considered now seemed to fill her every waking thought, ruling her life and her dreams.

Thomas sat on the edge of the chair. His voice was firm. “I wish you to stop publishing
The Absolutely True Adventures of a Country Miss in London
.”

“You do?” Cadwallender laughed. “Why would I want to do that?” He narrowed his eyes. “Or, more to the point, why do you want me to do that?”

Thomas drew a deep breath. “Because I intend to marry the young woman in question.”

“The country miss?” Cadwallender studied him for a moment. “Then you are—”

“Lord W? Not precisely, of course, but he is apparently based on me.” Thomas paused. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

“I have been corresponding with her. I do know where she lives. The rest I could guess at. It’s gratifying to know I was right. I do like to know who I’m dealing with.”

Thomas huffed. “You do realize the
Absolutely True Adventures
are not absolutely true, don’t you?”

“I’d be surprised if they were.” He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Miss Smythe—”

“Miss Smythe?”

“That’s the name she uses. I didn’t think that was absolutely true, either.” He picked up a pen and tapped it absently on the desk. “The
Adventures
are boosting my circulation every week they appear. Why should I jeopardize that?”