A Necessary Husband (16 page)

“Are you serious?” Lady Penelope gasped. “You are really
not
staying here in England to claim your title?”

“I don’t understand any of this,” the countess snapped, her eyes narrowing. “Are you saying that you have no intention of claiming your title
or
staying in England?”

“That’s correct.”

“
I see
,” the countess bit out. She rose to her feet. “Come, Penelope, we have other calls.”

“But Grandmother—”

“My dear Lady Farvendale, if I might have a word with you?” the duke asked.

“Your Grace, I believe everything is perfectly clear,” the countess said with a haughty sniff.

The duke stiffened and looked down his nose at her. “Lady Farvendale, I require a word with you at once!”

“I think not, Your Grace. It is quite clear to me that the prospects here for Penelope are not what I was led to believe.”

Meg groaned. “Oh, Grandfather, you didn’t!”

“What prospects?” Garrett demanded.

Lady Agatha let out a soft snore, her head bobbing forward.

The duke waved a dismissive hand at Meg. “Don’t concern yourself with this, Margaret.”

“Don’t concern myself?” Meg leaped to her feet and planted her hands on her hips. “You’re trying to sell off my brother into marriage, and you expect me to stay out of it? I’m not a child, Grandfather!”

“He did
what
?” Garrett roared.

Lady Agatha jerked awake. “What was that? What?”

“Good heavens,” Lady Penelope exclaimed,
placing a hand on her bosom. She stared at Garrett as if he had grown horns and a tail. “My lord, must you act the savage?”

“Yes, I must,” he bit out, glaring at the duke. “Whatever made you think you could arrange my life for me, old man? Didn’t you learn anything from what happened to my father?”

“I only want what’s best for you,” Erasmus replied, lifting his chin and staring his grandson down.

“You just want what’s best for your precious title!”

“Lady Penelope is an excellent match,” the duke defended.

“Indeed she is,” Lady Farvendale agreed with a firm nod of her head.

“Impeccable breeding,” Lady Agatha agreed. Then she sent a puzzled look at Meg. “A match for whom?”

“For Garrett,” Meg said with a snort.

“Garrett? And Penelope? Good heavens, no!” Lady Agatha exclaimed, laughing. “Why, they would never suit.”

“Agatha!” Lady Farvendale gasped in shock, slapping a palm to her ample bosom.

“Oh, don’t get on your high horse, Sophia,” Lady Agatha said. “Your granddaughter is a fine girl, the cream of the crop. But she and Garrett would never make a match of it.”

“I’m glad
someone
in this house can see reason,” Garrett growled.

The butler entered the room. “The Earl of Knightsbridge,” he announced.

“Hello, all!” Knightsbridge sang out as he entered the room. Upon seeing Lady Penelope, he stopped cold. “Oh,
you’re
here.”

“The rudeness of your family knows no bounds, Agatha,” Lady Farvendale sniffed.

“I think it’s rather rude to arrange someone’s life without asking him first,” Meg retorted, glaring at the duke. “Grandfather, you had best not plan on arranging any matches for
me
, or I will return to America so fast, you’ll think my presence here was just a dream.”

The duke paled. “Margaret, please!”

“Who’s getting married?” Knightsbridge asked, helping himself to a biscuit off the tea tray.

“No one, my lord,” Lady Penelope said, rising from the settee. “Grandmama, I believe it
is
time we were leaving.”

“Grandfather is trying to play matchmaker between Lady Penelope and Garrett,” Meg said to Knightsbridge.

He choked on a biscuit. “What!”

“Utter nonsense,” Lady Agatha said with a wave of her hand. “They would never suit. You, on the other hand, would be a perfect match for dear Penelope, grandson.”

“What!” Knightsbridge and Penelope exclaimed at the same time.

“Indeed,” Lady Farvendale said slowly, looking from one young person to the other. “I see what you mean, Agatha.”

“I make my own decisions about my life,” Garrett said, pointing a finger at his grandfather. “
I
will decide whether I stay or go, and whether I marry or not.”

“Don’t you use that tone with me,” the duke warned.

Meg threw up her hands. “Oh, you two are so much alike!”

“We are not!” the duke and Garrett shouted at the same time, then glared at each other.

“I need to sit down,” Knightsbridge said, sinking into an armchair.

“Utterly perfect,” Lady Farvendale said to Lady Agatha.

Lady Agatha nodded. “They’re already half in love with each other,” she said.

“We are not!” Penelope exclaimed.

“I should say not!” Knightsbridge chimed in.

The two older ladies merely smiled as the butler entered the room again.

“Ah…Mr. Tim O’Brien,” Stephens announced.

“He’s back,” Meg whispered dismally, as the seaman entered the room.

Garrett came forward to greet his first mate. “Tim, how goes it?”

“Well, Captain, there’s a problem with the harbormaster in London harbor, and I think you need to come and see to it yourself,” Tim said. He nodded at Meg. “Good day, Miss Meg.”

“Hello, Tim.” She sank back down on the settee, her expression glum.

“What kind of problem?” Garrett demanded.

“He’s charging us way too much for dropping anchor in the harbor,” Tim said. “And one of the boys overheard him bragging about how he was going to stick it to us Americans by cleaning out our pockets.”

“Did he, now?” Garrett said softly. Then he gave the man a predatory grin. “Let’s go have a chat with the harbormaster, Mr. O’Brien.”

“You will do no such thing!” the duke interjected. “We have guests, Garrett.”

Garrett cast his grandfather a glance that made the old man’s haughty look falter. “No, sir,
you
have guests. I have business to attend to.”

He left the room, Tim O’Brien right behind him.

L
ucinda returned from her carriage ride in a cautiously hopeful mood. Aside from their initial uncomfortable conversation, everything had gone splendidly. She had every hope that Sir James would eventually declare himself.

Upon entering the duke’s home, she handed her hat and pelisse to the butler. “Where is Miss Stanton-Lynch, Stephens?”

“In the Blue Salon, Mrs. Devering.”

She set off down the hall. When she opened the door to the blue salon, she took one step into the room and stopped dead.

“Good afternoon, sister-in-law,” Malcolm said with a charming grin.

He leaned against the fireplace mantel, the epitome of the dashing London bachelor in his
perfectly tailored bottle-green coat and meticulously tied cravat.

“Lucinda, I’m so glad you’re back,” Meg said, rising from the settee. She gave Lucinda a telling look, then jerked her head in the direction of Lady Agatha, who sat beside her.

A soft snore echoed throughout the room.

Cold fear knotted Lucinda’s stomach. Good heavens, Meg had been alone with Malcolm for who knew how long without benefit of a chaperone! She met Malcolm’s eyes and saw unrepentant glee in his gaze. He knew what he was doing, the snake!

“My lord,” she said in her frostiest voice, “would you care to explain what is going on here?”

“I am simply paying a call on Miss Stanton-Lynch,” Malcolm said, all innocence. “We were well chaperoned until a few minutes ago.”

“It’s not Lord Arndale’s fault,” Meg said, clearly concerned that she had done something wrong. “It just…happened.”

Lucinda remembered well how things tended to “happen” around Malcolm. She would not let Meg fall into the same trap she had been prey to all those years ago!

“Be glad the duke did not find you here with his granddaughter,” she said to Malcolm as she came forward and sat down in an armchair near the settee.

“But you are here now, dear Lucinda,” Malcolm replied. “And propriety is once more restored.”

“Yes.” She gave him a warning look. “And I will be here every time Meg receives you.”

“As it should be,” he agreed, but she could see the laughter in his eyes.

Meg let out a relieved breath and sank back on to the settee, obviously glad there would be no repercussions from the incident. “Lucinda, the viscount was just telling me about his estates. They sound beautiful,” she sighed.

“You shall have to see them sometime,” Malcolm said. “Perhaps I shall have a house party in the summer.”

“That would be lovely,” Meg said.

“I doubt that we could attend,” Lucinda said at the same time.

Meg frowned. “You don’t know that, Lucinda.”

“Don’t fret, Miss Stanton-Lynch,” Malcolm said, amusement in every word. “The lady is only looking out for your welfare.”

“Why does everyone think I’m some sort of ninny?” Meg huffed. “The last thing I want to do is hurt Grandfather by causing some sort of scandal, especially after he has been so kind to me.”

“We don’t think you a ninny,” Lucinda answered, reaching out to touch the girl’s hand. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Unfortunately, I fear I must be going,” Malcolm said, “as much as I hate to leave such delightful company.”

Lucinda quickly rose to her feet. “I’ll see you out, my lord.”

He raised his brows at her obvious desire to be rid of him, but took his time in bowing over Meg’s hand. “Enchanting as always, Miss Stanton-Lynch.”

Meg blushed. “Thank you for stopping by, Lord Arndale.” She giggled, and the sound woke Lady Agatha.

“What was that?” the old lady bellowed.

“Lord Arndale was just leaving, Aunt,” Meg said.

“Arndale?” Lady Agatha squinted at Malcolm. “Oh, yes. It’s been delightful, my lord. Do call again.”

“Come, my lord,” Lucinda said, leading the way to the door.

Malcolm followed her silently until they left the Blue Salon and reached the hallway. “So eager to be alone with me, my dear?” he purred.

“I warned you to stay away from her,” Lucinda hissed.

“My dear Lucinda, I doubt there is much you can do about it.” They reached the foyer, where Stephens handed him his hat and walking stick. Malcolm donned the fashionable beaver hat and gave her that charming smile that always made
her blood turn to ice. “I will continue to court her,” he murmured. “Unless, of course, you wish to make a bargain.”

Lucinda clenched her hands into fists. “I don’t like your bargains.”

“Then we have nothing to discuss. Good day, dear sister-in-law.”

He left her standing there and never looked back.

Garrett sat in the chair at his desk on board the
Trinity
and listened to the sound of the waves gently lapping at the side of the ship, the creak of the boards, the snap of an untrimmed sail in the wind. He closed his eyes and let it soothe him like a lullaby.

He had lived most of his life on a ship. It was the only true home he had ever known. Familiar smells surrounded him: wood, salt, and tar. The gentle sway of the ship as she bobbed at anchor in London harbor all but rocked him to sleep.

Yet something was wrong. It wasn’t quite the same.

He opened his eyes and stared at the wood plank ceiling of the cabin. He felt unsettled somehow. He had never felt that way aboard ship; being at sea had always eased his restlessness.

He blamed it all on Lucinda.

She had done something to him. Somehow she had looked deep into his soul and saw the
loneliness he had always kept hidden. Was she right? Did he fear loving people? Had he been running away from his emotions all these years?

It certainly hadn’t stopped him from developing feelings for
her
.

A quick double knock came on the door of his cabin, the prearranged signal he had discussed with Tim. Sitting up in his chair, he picked up one of his sea charts and scanned it. “Come!” he called sharply.

Tim creaked open the door. “Begging your pardon, captain, but Mr. Cuthbert, the harbormaster, is here to see you.”

Garrett scowled. “Show him in.”

The portly Mr. Cuthbert swaggered into the room, a superior grin on his face. He looked around the cabin as if assessing its value.

“Mr. Cuthbert?” Garrett said, drawing the man’s attention. He took enormous pleasure in the way the harbormaster’s eyes widened at the sight of his fine London clothing. “I understand there is some confusion with the rates to drop anchor in London Harbor.”

“No confusion,” Cuthbert said, recovering from his initial surprise. He puffed out his chest. “The rates are just like I quoted to your man here.”

“I see.” Garrett consulted his pocket watch. “Mr. Cuthbert, I am due at Almacks this evening, so I do not have much time to argue about this.
Perhaps I should just have you removed from your post and be done with it.”

“What!” The man’s eyes bulged. “You can’t do that!”

“I’m certain that I can.” He gave the man a smile that showed all his teeth. “I’m sorry, I’ve neglected to introduce myself. I am Garrett Lynch, captain of this vessel.”

“I know who you are,” the man sneered.

“I am also the Marquess of Kelton,” Garrett continued, watching the sneer disappear from the harbormaster’s face. “And while I am rather new to London—just inherited, you know—I’m certain my grandfather, the Duke of Raynewood, knows whom I can speak to in order to get you discharged.”

“N-n-no need of that, my lord,” Cuthbert stammered. “There must have been some sort of error with one of my clerks. I’m certain that’s what happened here.”

Garrett raised his brows. “A clerical error? I am quite relieved to hear it. So what
are
the rates for dropping anchor here?”

Cuthbert quoted a figure that was a third of what he had told Tim.

Garrett nodded in approval. “Much better, Mr. Cuthbert. If you go with my mate, Mr. O’Brien, he will see that you are paid the correct amount.”

“Thank you, my lord. Thank you very much.”
The man bowed and then humbly followed Tim from the room.

Tim gave Garrett a knowing wink before he closed the door behind himself.

Garrett leaned back in his chair and waited for the feeling of satisfaction that normally would have filled him at beating the harbormaster at his own game.

It never came.

He surged from the chair and began to pace the length of his cabin. What was
wrong
with him? Why didn’t he feel at home on the
Trinity
? And why had he relied on his title to resolve the matter? In the past, he would have used sheer will and American stubbornness to wear the man down.

He didn’t feel like himself anymore. And he didn’t like it a bit.

Lucinda had done this to him. She, with her pride and her passion. She had changed him somehow, with her talk of duty and family loyalty, and now he wasn’t content with his life anymore.

His ship, which had once been his escape, now seemed an empty shell of a once-consuming dream. Lonely and vacant, lacking in warmth, void of companionship. Just a vessel of travel, not the lifelong friend he had once thought it was.

He dropped his head into his hands and
rubbed his palms across his face. Lucinda had made him care about things he had never cared about before. He had thought he needed to be aboard ship, to start planning his voyage home, to ease the restlessness that plagued him.

Wrong.

He needed
her
.

But he had the feeling it might already be too late.

Meg was clearly starry-eyed over the handsome viscount, and since Malcolm’s pedigree made him a completely eligible suitor for the girl, Lucinda knew there was only one thing she could do to make sure this match never happened.

She went to the duke.

Just before changing for dinner that evening, she found him alone in his study. She knocked firmly, but her hand shook as she twisted the knob in response to his barked, “Enter!”

The duke sat behind his desk. “Yes, Mrs. Devering, what is it?”

“Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace, but I want to speak to you about Meg.”

“Oh?” The duke waved a hand at a chair, then sat back and steepled his fingers. “You’ve done well there, Mrs. Devering. She’s become the most sought-after young miss on the marriage mart—not that I had any doubts that she would.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. That is what—”

“I wish I were as pleased with my grandson’s behavior. The boy embarrassed me beyond the pale this afternoon when he told me in no uncertain terms that he would not wed Lady Penelope! And he did so in front of Lady Penelope herself, as well as her grandmother, Lady Farvendale.”

“Oh, no,” Lucinda whispered. But a small part of her heart rejoiced at the news.

“Indeed! Agatha has some misbegotten idea that Lady Penelope and Knightsbridge would suit, but I cannot envision such a thing.”

Lucinda could very well envision it, but said nothing.

“At any rate,” the duke continued, “I have been very pleased with the stream of eligible young bucks paying their calls on Margaret this past week.”

“Which brings us to the subject I wanted to discuss,” Lucinda jumped in. “I do not think it would be wise to allow Lord Arndale to call on Meg any more.”

“Oh?” The duke raised his brows. “And would you care to enlighten me as to your reasons, Mrs. Devering?”

“I’ve known the viscount for a long time,” she said, despite his clear displeasure. “I feel they would not suit.”

“Why not?” the duke asked. “He’s from an old and respected family, and when his father passes
on, he will bear an old and respected title. Not to mention that he’s rich as Midas, and he’s handsome to boot. What else could a young girl want?”

“Not everything is as it seems, Your Grace,” she said. “Just because he is handsome physically does not mean he is the same inside.”

“Nonsense!” The duke dismissed the idea with an aristocratic wave of his hand. “Unless you can provide me with some specific reason why the viscount would not suit, I am afraid I cannot accommodate your request.”

Lucinda opened her mouth, then closed it again. If she told the duke of her own close brush with scandal at the man’s hands, he might consider her an inappropriate person to associate with Meg. The reason he had originally chosen her was because of her spotless reputation. If he were to find out the truth, it would destroy any chance she had of having a future.

But if she didn’t tell him something, then he might allow a match between Malcolm and Meg, which would destroy Meg in the end.

“I am waiting, Mrs. Devering.”

Torn, she said, “Your Grace, please trust me when I tell you that Malcolm has not always dealt honorably with young ladies.”

“Details, Mrs. Devering.” The duke pinned her with his dark-eyed gaze. “I have promised my granddaughter that she may wed whom she
wishes, as long as that man has either a title or fortune—preferably both—that is worthy of her.”

And Malcolm had both.

She took a breath to fortify herself and began. “I’ve known the viscount for a long time,” she said. “Since before I married his brother.”

“Yes, yes.” The duke grimaced, then took a deep, shaky breath.

Lucinda frowned at his odd behavior, but continued, “Your Grace, Lord Arndale has made improper advances toward me over the past several years.”

The duke’s face reddened, but when she stopped, he indicated with an impatient wave of his hand that she should continue.

“I have always refused him, but still he persists. I do not think such a man would make Meg a good husband, so—”

The duke gasped, turned completely pale, then clutched his chest with one hand and grasped at the drawer of his desk with the other.

“Your Grace!” Lucinda jumped to her feet and rushed over to the elderly man. He continued to gasp for air as he clawed at the drawer to his desk. She yanked open the drawer. “What is it? What do you need?”

He shoved her away and reached for a small bottle. She attempted to help him with the stopper, but again, he pushed her hand away and
managed to uncork the thing himself. Then he sipped at the vial, breathing heavily the whole time.

Gradually, over a span of minutes that felt like hours, he began to breathe easier. His complexion slowly returned to normal, though ruddy color remained high in his cheeks. With hands that trembled, he put the stopper back in the bottle and returned it to the desk drawer. Then he looked up and shot her a sharp look of warning.