Her Proper Scoundrel (21 page)

She tensed, waiting for him to knock or try turning the doorknob, but he didn’t. A few moments later, she heard his footsteps again then the snap of the latch as the door closed.

A frisson of relief surged through her and she made her way to the chair to sit down, inspecting closely for the first time the emerald ring he had given her. Circled by diamonds, the gently worn, gold band had a series of hearts linked together. It had been his mother’s, he told her in the carriage on the way home.

She leaned back her head to rest. Only her mind wouldn’t obey her and thoughts tumbled one after the other. When could she expect Christopher to call on her in her room? Or would he respect her privacy until they settled more firmly in their role as husband and wife? When did he want to start the search for investors? Did he need her help in obtaining the “Bessie” from Lord Oliver Candel as well? Would Christopher be happy if she found herself with child? Or happier if she did not?

And later, when she sat across from him at dinner, only one thought rolled repeatedly through her mind – if he expected to exert his marital rights this night.

But no, after a delicious supper of lamb, duck comfit, spring greens, potatoes and fruit custard, he merely walked her, silent and brooding, to her door.

He bowed low over her hand and breathed a kiss across the backs of her fingers. “I bid you good night.” He straightened and his teeth gleamed in the dim light of the hallway as he flashed a smile. “In the morning we shall talk about your role in our enterprise.”

Our enterprise.

His choice of words delighted her, as did his reassuring smile. It made her feel truly his partner.

Strangely, his dream had now become hers. And just as strange, she too, wanted to see its success.

* * *

Christopher put aside the morning paper when Josceline walked into the breakfast room the next morning.

“I trust you slept well?”

An inane question yet it pleased Josceline immensely. It was just the sort of thing a husband would ask of a wife.

“I did, thank you.” She helped herself to scrambled eggs, ham, a wedge of cheese and a slice of bread from the sideboard and sat down. She had only taken a mouthful before Christopher spoke.

“I look forward to announcing our marriage at Oakland Grange. I also intend to announce the establishment of our business venture.”

“Indeed?” Josceline paused, a fork of scrambled eggs halfway to her mouth.

“Yes. It makes us a force to be reckoned with. You, with your background and breeding and me with my sea faring experience. What better occasion to look for investors.” He patted his mouth with his napkin.

“No.” Josceline put down her fork and clasped her hands beneath her bosom. “If you wish to be accepted into proper society, you must realize some things are not discussed during genteel gatherings. Men of the upper classes do not work in commerce and business discussions are better left for occasions where women are not present.”
 

“I see.” Christopher scowled and gestured to the footman to pour him another cup of tea. “What do you propose, then?”

“We inform Lady Oakland of our marriage when we arrive. As hostess, she can make the formal announcement. That is more than enough for one evening. Although we’ve been invited, we’re not well known here and we must cultivate acquaintances.”

“It seems a waste of an opportunity,” he growled.

“You shall still take advantage of the opportunity. Wait until after dinner when the men retire to their port and cigars. Don’t jump into the conversation, take your cue from the others and see if you can steer the conversation towards shipping. Gauge the general mood. Ask questions. Who are the prominent merchants in Bristol? Where does one meet them? That sort of thing.”

He looked at her and she felt her cheeks heat up at the approval in his eyes. Flustered, she looked down to her lap and toyed with her napkin.

“Nicely put,” he praised. “What you suggest makes perfect sense.” He buttered a piece of bread before slathering it with berry jam. He cut it in two and placed one half on her plate. “The compote is delicious. Last year’s berries, I expect.”

A surprised Josceline looked down at the jam covered bread then raised her gaze to catch his.

“Do you suppose Lord Candel shall be present at the festivities at Oakland House?” Thoughtfully Christopher took a bite of the bread and jam. “Because it would be an ideal time to remind him he reneged on his gambling debt.”

Josceline shook her head emphatically. “Only if you catch him in a discreet situation. The “Bessie” is a matter pertaining only to the two of you. Your grievance with him shouldn’t be aired in public.”

“I hate to think the rogue believes he has bested me.” A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“All in due time,” reassured Josceline. “Let us first make the acquaintance of our neighbors.”

“I have an idea. Once we have a few acquaintances, we shall hold a house party of our own. I surmise you have friends in London who could join us here in the country.”

It was as she feared. Christopher thought she had a wide circle of friends from whom she could draw. How disappointed he would be when he discovered her only friends and allies were Elizabeth and her mother.

“Ah, of course,” she stammered.

Twenty-four hours had not yet passed and already she was doomed to disappoint Christopher.

Best to deal with the evening at the Oakland’s first. Then she would worry about pulling together guests for the house party Christopher wanted.
 

* * *

Christopher couldn’t believe the lovely creature sitting across from him this morning at the breakfast table was his wife. Her hair was neatly pulled back although a few small curls wisped about her neck. Her eyes matched perfectly the emerald on her finger and the stone caught the sun’s rays as she moved her hands about.

His mother’s ring. How surprised he had been to discover it fit Josceline’s finger perfectly when he slipped it on her finger during the ceremony. The stone flashed green again as Josceline lifted her cup and it made him think of his mother.

Proud until the bitter end, she refused to sell the ring keeping it on her finger though poverty knocked continually at her door.

After he went to sea, he regularly sent her his monthly wage but even so, her life had been meager. She could easily have sold it at any time, yet she didn’t. When one day he finally asked her why, she had just smiled at him with sad eyes and said, “Love does not always allow one to think or act rationally.”

At the end, dropsy took her but she had hung on until she could give him the ring in person.

“For you and the wife you shall have one day,” she murmured. And just like that, she slipped away.
 

Josceline peeped at him over the rim of her tea cup, eyes crinkling in a smile. It sent a rush of joy pouring through him to pool in his gut.

She had once admitted to him she wanted a love match. In an impulsive silent vow to make it so, Christopher raised his cup to her. His mother’s words on love echoed in his ears and he had the feeling soon he would understand more fully what she meant.

He could only hope one day Josceline would feel the same.

Chapter Nineteen

The evening of Lord and Lady Oakland’s fete finally arrived - an evening which, for the first time in years, Josceline looked forward to with great anticipation.

And it was all because she accompanied the man sitting across from her on the front squabs. She glanced at him and he rewarded her with a quick grin.

“Have I told you how lovely you look?” Christopher teased, eyeing appreciatively the copper satin dress peeking out from beneath her cloak.

“You have,” she replied gaily, “but it shouldn’t hurt to remind me again. And I should return the favor. You cut a particularly fine figure tonight in your velvet waistcoat and evening tails.”

 
“Saucy minx.” He laughed aloud and leaned over to pat her hand but she could see her compliment pleased him for a slight smile hung on his lips.

The carriage rocked to a stop in front of Oakland Grange. With the help of several footmen who converged on them like ants to a honey pot, the two disembarked and were guided inside to a side room where more footmen were stationed to help guests with their coats.

They joined the queue waiting to be announced. Other than a few curious glances from fellow guests, they shuffled forward unnoticed.

It wasn’t until Howard, the Oakland’s butler, gestured to Christopher and pulled him aside that Josceline felt the first stirrings of unease.

“Is something amiss?” Josceline asked when Christopher returned to her side.

“Lord Oakland has requested my immediate presence in his library.” Christopher was clearly puzzled. “How odd.”

“Go see what he wants.” She gave him a little nudge. “We can step back into line when you return.”

She moved closer to the wall to wait, pretending to study the portraits and furniture lining the entrance way, recognizing the horsehair chair she had sat in the night she arrived from London.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and she turned to see the butler.

“There is a gentleman here who wishes to see you in private, my lady.” Howard bowed. “Will you come with me?”

“A gentleman for me?” she exclaimed. How peculiar, who knew she would be here?

“Yes, he says he is your father.” Her father? At Oakland Grange? Her heart leapt into her throat, constricting the flow of air and she had to make a conscience effort to breathe.

No, it couldn’t be. He must have received the curt letter she had sent several days ago announcing her marriage. Furthermore, if it truly was her father, she knew him well enough to realize he wouldn’t be happy she had married against his wishes.

Frantic, she scanned the crowd in search of Christopher but he hadn’t returned.

She had no desire to face the duke. However, if Howard spoke the truth and her father was here, she could share her news in person and make him understand his plans for her and Mr. Burrows would not come to fruition. Her joyous anticipation of the evening crumbled at the looming confrontation.

Josceline scanned the crowd one last time - still no sign of Christopher. It shouldn’t take long to talk to her father; she could return before Christopher noticed her absence.

“I shall deal with him,” she replied. “Where is he?”

“Lord Oakland’s office. This way, my lady.” The butler pointed and let her precede him.

Reluctantly, she made her way, tasting ash in her mouth. Every step closer became more difficult as if she waded through sludge.

“Through here, my lady.” The butler swung open the door.

She paused in the doorway, leaning one trembling hand against the jamb for support. Two figures turned to her: the slight, stooped figure of her father, and the burly form of Thomas Burrows.

They couldn’t hurt her here, in this public gathering, she told herself. She sucked in a deep breath and stepped into the room. The door closed behind her with an ominous “clack”.

Burrows hung behind, a smirk on his bulbous lips as her father advanced towards her. The duke spoke first.

“Lady Oakland has done her duty to me as your father and reported your circumstance to me. I’ve come to restore your honor.” His voice was querulous.

“There is no problem with my honor.” She clenched her fists in the folds of her skirt. “The truth is-.”

He interrupted her before she could explain. “That’s not what Lady Oakland has suggested to me. According to that fine lady, you are compromised.”

“I beg to differ.” She stood her ground.

“Mr. Burrows is willing to take you to wife. I command it to be so.” He glowered at her from beneath bristling brows.

“I cannot marry Mr. Burrows.”

“I am your father, the Duke of Cranston, and you shall do as I say.” He moved closer and made as if to grab for her.

She took a step back.

Her father came for her, clawed hands flapping and face becoming more mottled with red as he advanced. She took another step back, then another and another until she backed into the wall.

She held her tongue with the perverse desire to see how ugly and twisted his face could become. Defiant, she crossed her arms, pressing her body into the wall tightly.

“You can’t run from me, daughter.” He grabbed her wrist with one bony hand and yanked at it. “Come, we return to London this night. I’ve spoken to our parish priest and he awaits our return.”

Her father had made arrangements without her acquiescence. Anger spurted through her and her skin crawled where her father held her wrist. She tried to tug free but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t loose herself from his grasp.

Mr. Burrows lumbered over, eyes filled with vicious intent. His rank smell filled her nostrils as he grabbed the other wrist. “Deny me, will ye? Ye think yer so much better than me?”

“No! I am wed already!” She screamed and dug in her heels but was no match against the strength of two men. The heels of her slippers scraped against the bare boards of the floor as they dragged her across the floor. She struggled and a fat hand clamped over her mouth, restricting her breath. A black mist clouded the room, lowering over her eyes until she could see nothing but blackness.