Miss Quinn's Quandary (10 page)

“I had wished to marry you.” He glared at her. “Why would you do
this to me?”

“I am afraid any explanation I could give would prove
unsatisfactory.”

“I imagine it would. Suffice it to say, I shan’t want anything to
do with you again,” Fenton’s voice sounded odd, distant,
emotionless
.

Tears pooled in Larissa’s eyes. “I quite understand.”

“If you will pardon me,” Fenton performed an exquisite leg, “I
shall take leave of you now.”

Still pressing the linen to his mouth, Randall steadied himself
on Sir Thomas’ shoulder.

“Look there.” Sir Thomas gestured with his head to the very
lovely, very angry Lady Dorothea.

Randall saw Dorothea and Lady
Brookhurst
under the awning.

“Married!” Dorothea’s voice carried on the wind. She met his gaze
and glared daggers at him. Her reaction to the circulating rumor was not at all
the picture of loveliness Randall was accustomed to seeing. She broke off her
stare and fell into her mother’s arms. “He used me,
Maman
,”
she sobbed.

Randall heard Sir Thomas turn away and snicker. “I’m afraid
you’re in for it, my man.” He gave Randall a clap on the arm and left.

From years of experience, Randall knew Sir Thomas was right when
it came to the ladies. A slight uneasiness came over him. He wondered what it
was he was in for. Bracing himself with both hands on the railing, Randall once
again faced forward. Then he saw her.

With new set composure and her head held high, Dorothea strolled
toward Randall. “You’ll be sorry for doing this to me,” she threatened and
stalked away.

He knew she would not be speaking to him again. It was really
over between them. When Randall thought the trip could not get any worse, he
saw Larissa heading in his direction.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me—
”

“Please,” he shushed Larissa and led her toward the great awning,
now deserted, in the center of the boat. The faces of the servants remained
impassive, unaffected by the latest gossip sweeping the vessel.

“I need a drink.” Randall wished he could order a whiskey. The
strongest drink he could find was punch. He eyed the fury that clouded
Larissa’s usual lovely visage and added, “I trust you are in need of one as
well.” He drained the first glass and offered the second to her.

“I don’t want that.” She pushed the glass away.

“Well, best not let it go to waste, then.” He downed the contents
of her glass. Larissa’s horror, which Randall saw depicted in her eyes,
replaced the anger of only minutes before.

He held his eyes closed for a few moments and prayed for calm.
“Now, you may continue,” he prompted. “But quietly, please.”

Larissa glanced around her and saw no one. She leaned closer to
Randall.

“Who is that Sir Purvis
Archwald
?” she
demanded, her eyes boring into him. “He cannot possibly be who I think he is.”

“And why not?” Randall was certain she also remembered Sir Purvis
as the foxed passenger in the coach to Oxford.

“But really? The man was unconscious.”

“Obviously not as unconscious as we had thought. Shall we get
some fresh air?” Randall offered Larissa his arm. He ignored her protest,
linked her arm with his, and held her hand in the crook of his arm.

Larissa struggled to free herself from Randall’s hold, but to no
avail. “Do you mind? I wish you wouldn’t force yourself upon me.”

“Have you noticed we seem to be very much alone?”

“Alone? What do you mean, alone? The boat is filled with guests.”
The puzzled expression grew once she noticed their isolation. They were
seemingly quite alone aboard this large water vessel. “Where is … where has
everyone gone?”

“They’re about, I can assure you,” Randall softened his voice.
“Watching every move we make.”

Larissa’s eyes widened.

“You should show some enthusiasm,” he prompted.

“Why?”

“You do share the company of your new husband.” He performed a
dazzling smile, placing himself on display for all who cared to see.

“You’re as bad as they are.” Larissa glanced around, imagining
the guests whispering and chuckling at her expense. “You cannot take all this
seriously.”

“We are as good as wed in the eyes of Society,” he assured her.

“But Society rumors do not a marriage make,” she retorted.

“How true, how true. Who do you think the members of Society are
going to believe, Sir Purvis, confidant of the Duke of Clarence, or us?”

“Will you not even try to deny it?”

“How can I?” Sir Randall shrugged in defeat. “Call every member
of the ton a liar? I think not. The thing is as well as done. In an hour, word
will have traveled up and down the Thames and by tonight all of London will
know. We’d look the fool to deny it.”

Larissa hadn’t realized. Was High Society so powerful? From the
look on Sir Randall’s face, she assumed it was, for he would not lift a finger
to fight it.

“Whatever are we to do?”

Sir Randall stared at Larissa, smiled that disarming smile of
his, and said, “We continue to pretend we are married.”

His words startled her. How far would he go to perpetuate this
lie? He certainly could not compare this circumstance with the one at The Blue
Boar Inn. Spending one night at an obscure posting house and prolonging the
pretense of marriage in London were two entirely different matters. In the
country, only a few people had known of their nonexistent nuptials. How
unfortunate for them one of those passengers happened to be Sir Purvis
Archwald
.

Disembarking now was out of the question. Larissa sat with Sir
Randall, isolated, on display under the scrutiny of the other guests. She and
Sir Randall on one side of the craft and the remainder of the guests on the
other, all but pointing at the two of them.

“I do so wish to put on a convincing show,” Sir Randall informed
her.

“What on earth for?” Larissa could see Sir Randall’s eyes linger,
not on her, but past her. “What is it? What are you looking at?

Sir Randall laid his hand along her neck and jaw, preventing her
head from turning. “It’s Lord
Langleigh
and the Earl
of Westmont,” he whispered.

“But, what if they.” she began, turning to peer over her
shoulder.

“No, don’t look.” Sir Randall bent forward and took her mouth
with his. It was a complete and effective way of silencing her. Larissa had
melted with his touch. And with his kiss, she found she was losing her ability
for rational thought.

“Really.” she gasped, pushing away from him. “You must stop.”

“May I remind you, you’re the one who dreamed up this little
tale.
It was all because you didn’t want to sleep in a barn.
You wanted a warm room and a bed. If you will recall, it was on your behest I
played along, not because of any perverted pleasure on my part. Well, madam,
this is what has resulted. You have made your bed and I am to lie in it with
you.”

She knew, of course, he meant figuratively. “Is there nothing we
can do to stop this?”

“Nothing I know of. Any ideas you may have on this matter will be
more than appreciated. No, no. On second thought, it was your idea that placed
us in this predicament. I think it best if I think of a way out.”

“What are my aunt and your uncle going to say when they return?”

Sir Randall lounged back, resting his arms on the railing.
Looking far too comfortable in Larissa’s mind. “It would be fair to guess they
will wish us the most sincere felicitations.”

As soon as the barge docked, she and Sir Randall wasted no time
in thanking their host and leaving the premises for Rushton House. When they
stepped onto the front walk, Laurie pulled the door open to greet Larissa and
Sir Randall. She could feel the weight of public scrutiny lift from her
shoulders once she passed through the portal into the safety of the house.

“Shall I instruct Mrs. Drum to bring tea to the parlor?”

“Yes, Laurie, thank you.” Sir Randall shed his gloves and handed
them to the butler along with his hat.

Larissa observed Sir Randall watch the butler with more than a
passing interest. She led the way up the stairs to the first floor and moved on
into the parlor.

The ever-efficient Mrs. Drum bustled into the room with her usual
vigor. Instead of the endless prattle she usually delivered along with the tea
service, she kept silent. Larissa opened her mouth to comment on the oddity,
but with the lift of Sir Randall’s eyebrows she refrained.

“That’s all right, Mrs. Drum, we’ll pour.” Sir Randall dismissed
the housekeeper. She curtsied and took her leave. “The servants know,” he
whispered.

“What? How can you tell?” Larissa asked.

He made a careful inspection of the doorways and listened for
whispers more quiet than their normal hush. “It’s what they haven’t said,” he
explained. “It’s a minute difference in their behavior, but it’s there.”

“Really? You would think they, above all, would know. They see
how we live,” Larissa’s voice grew impatient, insistent. “They must know the
truth.”

“And choose to ignore it.”

“Why would they disbelieve what they know is true?” Larissa began
to pace.

“Who can say?” Sir Randall settled on the sofa and helped himself
to tea. “Would you care for some?” He lifted the pot, offering to pour her a
cup.

“How can you sit there and calmly take tea?” she scolded. “Aren’t
you the least bit concerned?”

“Of course I’m concerned.” Sir Randall took on a serious tone.
His attention settled to the plate of assorted breads and cakes. “At the
moment, what truly concerns me is the lack of apple tarts. They’re my favorite.”
He sorted through the lot, making a thorough search.

“Oh, do stop,” she pleaded, feeling the events of the day taking
their toll on her already ragged nerves. “Whatever are we to do?”

Sir Randall sat back and lifted his teacup. “Why, finish our tea.
Do have some. I’m sure it will do you a world of good.”

“You really are quite impossible,” she huffed, disgusted with his
attitude and plopped into a chair.

With a “Sir,” Laurie announced his presence. “Would you care to
peruse the invitations? We seem to have accumulated an unusual abundance this
afternoon.” He had dispensed with the silver salver and lifted his full hands,
producing said invitations.

“Have we?” Sir Randall remarked. Laurie relinquished one handful
into Sir Randall’s waiting hands and set the second on the table and left. Sir
Randall rummaged through the pile in his hand. His eyes widened in surprise.

“I thought everyone understood your uncle would be gone,” Larissa
said.

“They’re not addressed to my uncle, they’re addressed to us.” Sir
Randall handed several to Larissa and rummaged through the others from the
table.

Larissa read the first. Sir Randall and Lady Trent, it said.

“Vouchers to
Almacks
,” Sir Randall
announced with surprise and tapped the parchment with his fingertips. “I’ve
been on the town for the Season before, but never have I flown so high.” A
burst of laughter escaped from Sir Randall.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“We are the latest fashionables.” He gave another peal of
laughter. “Gad.” Sir Randall held up a golden-edged invitation. “This is for
the rout at Norfolk House tonight.”

“You’re not thinking of going are you?”

“Why not? It’s Norfolk House. When would we ever have a chance to
attend? It’s a great honor. News of our extraordinary marriage, I suppose.” A
smile crossed Sir Randall’s lips. “We have captured the curiosity of the haute ton.”

“And we shall fall out of favor just as easily, I imagine.”

“I have no doubt,” he remarked. “Should we not enjoy every
fortuitous opportunity that comes our way?”

Larissa said nothing.

“The Duke and Duchess of Norfolk, not to mention the other peers of
the kingdom, will be in attendance.” Sir Randall went on to tempt her. His eyes
glimmered, teasing in the charming way of his. “Don’t tell me you aren’t the
least bit intrigued as to how the better half lives.”

Maybe she was … just a little.

“The Larissa I knew wanted to live and experience life. We have a
chance to do all that and more.”

More? Larissa wanted to know what that more might be. “You must
already know, your uncle is an earl.”

“My uncle, not me. Nor am I fated to inherit that much coveted
title.” An anxious smile crossed his face. “Laurie, has Mrs. Rutledge arrived
yet?”

“No, sir, she has not.”

Randall looked back at Larissa. “What do you say? I think we
should go.”

Larissa tapped the corner of a parchment on her cheek and
considered the proposal. After the Season was over, the truth about their
marriage would come out. The scandal would force her to live the rest of her
life in the country. However, she imagined with the influence of her aunt and
new uncle, they could arrange for her to marry quietly. A local squire’s son or
some other suitable husband could be found. Before she faced that dreary life,
she would use to her advantage all that this situation provided.

Sir Randall was right, she’d never have a chance like this again.

“I shall be ready to leave in an hour,” she announced.

Observing the line of carriages waiting to deposit their
passengers at Norfolk House, Larissa grew impatient. “Why don’t we just walk?
It’s only a few houses down.”

“We can’t do that,” Sir Randall, who sat in calm reserve against
the squabs, answered.

“Why not?” Larissa asked, returning to her seat.

“It’s just not done.”

“This is preposterous.” Larissa peered out the open carriage
window again and looked behind them. The long line of carriages stretched down
the street and around the corner. “Society people have such odd ways.”

When they rounded the corner ten minutes later, Larissa could see
the house. The curtains were pulled back, and she saw every window ablaze with
light and the crush of people inside.

“Are we to go in there? Faith, I believe there is no room for
another soul.”

Nearing the head of the line, Larissa saw exiting guests waiting
for their carriages to leave. “Look at all these people leaving.” Larissa spoke
after a lengthy silence. She felt her stomach give an angry grumble. It
occurred to her that in her rush to dress, she had forgotten to eat. “I hope we
have not missed supper. I’m afraid my stomach would make the most undignified
protest.”

“Supper?” Sir Randall repeated. “Supper is not served at most
routs.”

“No supper?” Larissa sighed disappointedly. “Well, I’ll just have
a few extra cakes to fortify my appetite.”

“There is usually no refreshment of any kind served,” Sir Randall
added. “Nor dancing, nor music for that matter.”

Larissa glared at Sir Randall nonplussed. “What kind of party is
this? Whatever are we to do here?”

“One attends a rout to see and to be seen, my dear.” He smiled
and gave her hand a pat. A liveried footman opened the carriage door, leaving
Larissa’s reaction unspoken.

“I say, this is a fabulous crush,” Sir Randall exclaimed after
stepping into the townhouse and removing his outer garments.

“Is that good or bad?” Larissa queried, shedding her wrap.

“Good, to be sure.” Sir Randall cupped her elbow and led her into
the queue on the staircase, moving upward. It seemed to Larissa’s dismay their
waiting had not ended.

The herd of people shuffled about the staircase, which felt
smaller by the minute. Larissa had to endure countless elbows poking her in
varying degrees and directions. It occurred to her this was not in the realm of
what she considered fun.

Larissa turned to look at the length of the line stretching
behind them. It was still all the way out the door with no end in sight.

“Oh!” she cried when thrown against Sir Randall. His hard chest
knocked the wind out of her. Sir Randall’s hands came up behind her, pressing
on her back, holding her to him. Her face was mere inches from his. “Do you
mind?” she snapped.

“I do enjoy a successful rout.” Larissa heard his words pass
through a suggestive smile.

Except he hadn’t had the mind to release her. “You did that on
purpose,” she said through her teeth.

“I most certainly did not,” he corrected, pushing her away from
him. “Can’t be helped really.” Sir Randall glanced at the guests compressed
around them.

Larissa faced forward, away from Sir Randall, took a few steps
forward and saw the first story landing. She allowed her smile to surface.
Perhaps he had enjoyed it. Maybe as much as she had.

“Sir Randall and Lady Trent,” the liveried footman announced.

On the first story landing, Lady Norfolk greeted her guests. “How
nice to see you.” her voice trailed. The smile she wore did not, although she
did not recognize Sir Randall. She continued in equitable tones, “You are the
nephew of the Earl of Rushton, are you not?”

Sir Randall gave a low bow. “Yes,
Your
Grace.”

“How delighted to meet you.” The duchess held her hand out to
Larissa. “Then you, of course, must be Lady Trent.”

Larissa said nothing, accepted the duchess’ hand and curtsied.
She sensed a newfound interest surge through the duchess.

“I do hope you enjoy my special treat for this evening.” Lady
Norfolk pulled Larissa closer with her hand. “I have the legendary Briolette
diamond on display.”

“It is the only such gemstone that could near, but not surpass,
your natural beauty, Your Grace,” Sir Randall said in an altogether pleasant
manner. He smiled, making his already attractive face more handsome. He pulled
Larissa’s hand from the duchess’ grip and tucked it into the crook of his
elbow, securing it with his own hand.

“I can see why you had to marry this rascal, Lady Trent. You
could not resist him.”

“I do continue to try,” Larissa replied, forcing a civil smile.
By the curious looks surrounding them, the duchess was not the only lady who
appeared to envy her and Larissa hated acting the pretense of marriage.

“I shall conduct the viewing from the bust of Zeus in the Great
Room.”

“We shall be delighted,
Your
Grace,” Sir
Randall replied and made a bow before escorting Larissa away.

“You’re quite the accomplished flirt,” Larissa said.

“That’s very accomplished flirt,” he corrected her.

Larissa hadn’t intended the statement to be a compliment.

“You may describe me as a lot of things, but charming must be
among them.”

“And conceited too, I imagine.”

“There is no purpose insulting me. I am merely pointing out what
is obvious.”

Larissa regarded him with a pointed look. “What is obvious to me
is that you need a healthy dose of modesty.”

“If it sat on a plate with a fork, I’d have to fight you for it,”
he retorted in fun.

Beyond the Music Room lay the first of two reception rooms.
Larissa carried a glimmer of a hope she might find a morsel to eat and scanned
the melee for a circulating servant with a loaded tray in hand.

“If I cannot find at least something to drink, I shall probably
faint,” Larissa admitted.

Sir Randall sidled up to her, running his hands up her arms and
holding her upright. “Then I shall make sure you remain steady.”

She tried to wrench out of his hold. “I’d prefer you let me fall
to the floor and allow the guests to tread upon me.”

“I shan’t allow any such thing to happen, my sweet.” He bent to
whisper in her ear, “Besides, my uncle would have me thrashed within an inch of
my life if any harm should befall you.”

“Your concern is overwhelming,” Larissa remarked. “You may unhand
me.”

Sir Randall scowled. “I wouldn’t hear of it. Can’t have you
toppling over in the midst of the guests. It would make a most dreadful scene.
Things are muddled enough as they are, don’t you agree?”

Larissa remained silent, but the stormy expression on her face
told him she was not pleased. She needed a diversion to keep her mind off her
stomach.

“Look there, the duchess is approaching to lead the group to see
her diamond,” Sir Randall pointed out.

“If there isn’t anything to eat, I suppose we might as well see
it,” Larissa sighed. She took Sir Randall’s arm and fell in line with the
others.

Lady Norfolk led five couples upstairs, down the hall, and into a
room. Within a glass box the Briolette diamond hung on a sizable gold chain.

The diamond was very large, elongated in shape, about the length
of Randall’s pinkie finger, and completely faceted.

“The diamond is over ninety carats in size and once belonged to
Eleanor of Aquitaine, who acquired it while married to her first husband, Louis
VII of France,” the Duchess of Norfolk explained. “She gave it to her son,
Richard the Lionheart, who used it to pay his release from the Emperor of
Austria.”

Randall could see the onlookers’ heads move from side to side
trying to glimpse this sizable chunk of history. He also noticed most of them,
at one time or another, staring at him and Larissa, sizing them up as well.

The duchess continued, “It disappeared then resurfaced in the
1500s when Henri II of France presented it to his mistress, Diane de Poitiers.
I am proud to say I have recently purchased it and brought it back to England,
its original home.”

The guests gave a round of polite applause before descending the
staircase and returning to the Great Room.

“Not to distract from the piece de resistance of the evening,”
Randall whispered to Larissa, “but I could not help but notice there was more
attention paid to us than to Her Grace of Norfolk’s necklace.”

If Larissa had been paying more attention to the people around
her instead of to the rumblings of her empty stomach, she might have realized
the same. She could see the pointed glances of the guests and nearly hear the
waggling of their tongues. The stately posture of a servant in the next room
caught her eye, distracting her from the gossiping guests.

“I think I see someone with a tray,” she said to Sir Randall.
“I’m going to see for myself. Don’t leave without me.”

“No, I shan’t, but you best not go alone,” he called to her. It
wasn’t a moment later when someone came careening into him.

“Excuse me!” Lady Dorothea could probably have avoided bumping
into Randall. Her hands moved below the front of his waistband and slowly slid
up to their final resting place on his chest. “Such a sad crush, don’t you
agree?”

With a stern facade and with great care, Randall took hold of her
wrists and removed her hands from his person. “Yes, it is.”

Dorothea glanced away before blinking her beautiful blue eyes at
him. “I would like to apologize for my rude behavior this afternoon.”

“You, rude?” Randall gave a gracious, understanding smile. “Not
at all. I think you’ll find things will have worked for the best.”

“You have the right of it, Sir Randall. I have all confidence
that things will indeed turn out for the best.” Randall saw her smile, which at
any other time would have surely bent his will. “If you will excuse me.” She
squeezed by him and moved toward the doorway.

He was amazed that now he felt very little for her. He had never
meant to hurt her. If she had forgiven him, all the better. He would gladly go
his way and was relieved to know she would now go hers.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Is that you, Randall?” Randall did an
about-face and spotted Lord William
Felgate
shouldering through the crowd, heading in his direction. “How goes it, old man?”

“Wills, it’s been an age since I’ve seen you.” It did Randall
good to see a friendly, familiar face. “Are you going by Lord
Felgate
yet?”

“No. And don’t think I ever will. Terrance is attending the
Season looking for a wife. Plans to set up a nursery.”

“Ah, so you’re about to be bumped down to presumptive heir,”
Randall clarified.

“Speaking of wives. Heard you’ve taken the fatal step.” William
gave a wry smile. “Where is your charming bride?” He stood up on tiptoe,
looking around the sea of guests, trying to spot the girl that could catch
Randall’s fancy.

“I was wrong,” Larissa sighed, returning to Sir Randall’s side.

“This is she, I presume. Why would you want to keep her hidden
away?” William took Larissa’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Charmed, my
lady.”

“Allow me,” Randall offered. “My dear, this is Lord William
Felgate
. Lord William, here, is my good friend.”

“Very good,” William stressed, keeping an appreciative eye on
Larissa.

Randall glanced at Larissa before confessing, “We’re not really
married, Wills.”

“Why would you deny it?” William said in disbelief. “She’s
everything you’d ever want!”

“You see,” Randall said to Larissa. “Even he doesn’t believe me.”

The success of the rout was
overoccupied
,
overstated, and overblown in Larissa’s estimation. She found it very hard to
believe people actually wanted to attend these dreadful affairs. With nothing
to eat or drink, no music or entertainment, she didn’t see the value of
attending.

Now that it was over and done with, she and Sir Randall could
return to the comfort of Rushton house and its ready and well-stocked kitchen.
They descended the stairs, retrieved their outerwear and, after waiting another
lifetime, stood at the curb next in line for the return of their carriage.

A steady murmur of voices increased with intensity as a group
moved from the house toward the street. “What’s going on?” she whispered to Sir
Randall.

“I’m not quite sure,” he answered. “But we’ll soon find out.”

Sure enough, Lady Goddard, who stood just behind them, said to
Mrs.
Witharm
, “I can’t possibly imagine. With a house
full of people?”

“I think it must have been one of the guests,” Mrs.
Witharm
replied.

“No, it cannot be true. One of the duchess’ friends?”

Mrs.
Witharm
looked down her nose at
the other guests in line. “Not everyone in attendance is a friend of Her Grace.”

Feeling self-conscious, Larissa faced forward, knowing Mrs.
Witharm
had meant someone of a lower class. Someone like
her, a mere niece of a dowager
viscountess
or the
wife of a baronet.

“The terrace window was left open,” Lady Goddard continued,
relaying the facts. “They say that is how the thief escaped.”

“From two floors above ground? I think not, unless he was an
acrobat from Astley’s.”

The Rushton coach pulled up next. A footman opened the door and
handed Larissa up. She pulled her skirts around her legs, settling in the seat.
Across from her sat Sir Randall. He nodded to the footman who signaled to the
driver to move the carriage off.

“Did you hear those ladies?” she asked Sir Randall. “Do you have
any idea what was stolen?” Larissa felt alarm that one of the guests, perhaps
even someone they knew, might be the guilty party.

Sir Randall leaned back against the squabs and slid his hands
into his pockets to reflect on the matter. Then he coolly replied, “I need not
wonder what it was or who has it. I know.” With that he pulled a thick-braided
gold chain from his pocket. Hanging from the chain hung the Briolette diamond.