Secrets of a Scandalous Bride (18 page)

And his subsequent refusal to allow her to ease his own obvious desire felt like some sort of penance he was determined to pay, unearned as it was.

He left her with the greatest reluctance. And only after extracting a promise that she would not leave the cloisters. It was still early; only the dairymaids and a battalion of footmen scurried in the secret pathways of the lower classes. If Pymm was like most gentlemen and ladies he knew, he would lie abed until the sun reached the middle of the sky.

He had plenty of time to see to the closed carriage for her and for a last word with Joshua. If she had doubted his intention to see his plans through, Elizabeth Ashburton was about to find out that when his mind was set, not the Prince Regent himself could sway him.

Little did he know that there was one dowager duchess, who, despite an orchestra of grumbling, rose with another lady who had no trouble rising with the chickens. And when three women put their combined minds together, one man stood not a chance of getting his way.

Elizabeth wanted to shred into a hundred pieces the newest missive from Pymm she had found waiting for her in the Helston carriage. But since she was not alone, she resisted and simply refolded it, the eyes of Luc, Ata, and Sarah regarding her with curiosity.

“The same?” Sarah’s voice was soft.

“Always,” Elizabeth replied. “I don’t know why Pymm delights in leaving me these sentimental notes.”

“Poetic drivel never helps a gentleman’s suit. A change of heart, my dear?” Luc enquired, without a hint of surprise.

She twisted her gloved fingers, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

“You are not to put her on the spot like that, Luc,” Ata said. “You of all people know these sorts of things must be handled delicately.”

Her friends had not a notion of how deep and wide the flood of complicating factors truly was. In the heavy silence, Ata rearranged the plumage of her enormous black hat, while Sarah gave Elizabeth’s hand a comforting squeeze.

Luc tilted his head to one side in an attempt to peer at Ata’s face, half hidden by her hat. “What were you thinking to wear that platter of crow’s feathers in the carriage?”

“I’ll have you know these are from the rare Australian black cockatoo.”

The duke batted at one particularly large offender.

“I’m certain you know very well why I am wearing this,” Ata said quietly, very unlike herself. It was obvious to Elizabeth that Ata was still distressed by the cool manner with which Mr. Brown was conducting himself of late.

“Actually, I’m not certain I do. I’ve been hearing the most outrageous stories. Unlike others, however, I prefer firsthand accounts,” Luc ground out.

“What happened?” Elizabeth asked, relieved she did not have to address their questions.

Sarah quickly shook her head in silent warning and Elizabeth wished she had not spoken.

“Yes, do tell us,” Luc insisted, iron coating his words.

“Well, I decided I should employ this era’s modern ways if I am to find happiness. There was very little to it, I assure you. I’ve no idea why such a fuss is being made over my posing a simple question to a long-standing acquaintance.”

Luc’s expression turned thunderous at her words.

“Elizabeth is a prime example of what females should do,” Ata continued.

“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth squirmed under Luc’s hot glare.

Ata leaned forward in the carriage and patted her knee. “You do what you want and ignore all the trivial things standing in your way.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You kissed Rowland Manning in public,” Ata replied.

Luc shook his head. “Yes, but she had the intelligence to do it while wearing a disguise. You, however, cornered Brownie in the middle of a ballroom.”

“It was behind a potted palm,” Ata insisted.

“You
kissed
Mr. Brown?” The shock of it sent a giggle to Elizabeth’s throat.

“Of course I did not!”

“The Lady Home had a great deal to say about your conversation with Mr. Brown behind that potted palm.” Luc sighed. “And she is recounting it to everyone who will listen.”

“Proving she is the greatest gossip plaguing the earth.”

“So, is it true?” the duke asked casually. “Did you, ahem, ask for Brownie’s hand in marriage?” By his cool expression it was clear he did not believe it for a moment.

The dowager duchess’s usually sallow complexion flushed. “Honestly, Luc, you have no idea how brazen the Countess is. Did you not see her dance with him
three
times? It’s as if she is doing this to spite me.”

“You think
she
is brazen?” Luc shook his head. “Well, I beg to differ with you. Never saw a man so flustered last evening. Thought Brownie was about to cock his toes. And I see you have not answered.”

Ata snapped her fan into place and flapped it erratically. “He refused,” she rushed on at the sight of their shocked expressions. “So that is that. And I’m for Cornwall as soon as Elizabeth and Sarah are settled. It’s far too hot and unfashionable to be in town during the summer.”

“Oh, Ata,” Sarah said, sympathy washing over her grave face.

Elizabeth took up the older lady’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Luc looked as if he had been struck on the head, he was so dazed.

Ata waved away their concern. “It doesn’t matter. Really. I’m delighted the matter is finally resolved. And Luc? I will thank you, if you truly care about me, to never speak of this again. I should like to change the subject.”

The duke, always the most private of gentlemen, stared at his tiny grandmother, and for the first time ever, did exactly as she bade. He pursed his lips and then turned the full force of his personality on Elizabeth. Such graciousness was not usually at the fore-front. “You are to be congratulated again for your courage and pluck during the race yesterday. Indeed, I must thank you.”

Ah, she remembered. He had not had to forfeit the small fortune to Pymm. She bowed her head and nodded, unused to this man’s praise.

“You must invite Mr. Manning to dine with us tomorrow,” Ata said, struggling to regain a smile.

“But what of General Pymm?” Sarah frowned. “He was very unhappy last eve when he could not find you, Elizabeth. He is to stay at Windsor with the Prince Regent for several more days. But he said he would pay a call at Helston House the day after he returns—to take a turn about Hyde Park in the afternoon.”

She swallowed. “And I shall go.”

Luc cleared his throat, discomfort evident in the line of his posture. “And what shall you tell him?”

Yes, that was the question, wasn’t it? It was just
too bad that she did not possess an easy answer.
She itched to act.
And so far, waiting for a solution to present itself had only mired her further and deeper until she feared she would be swallowed up by the tide of events.

Elizabeth gazed at the concerned faces of her friends in the carriage and took her decision. She would go to Hyde Park with Pymm when he returned to town and she would finally out and out ask him if he had killed her father. Of course he would lie if it was true, but perhaps she could discern the truth by his mannerisms. Even if it was her undoing, she had to confront him. And then she would go to France just as Rowland suggested.

It was too bad fate had other plans.

R
owland had never been so furious in his life. With himself. He should know better by now. Since when did Elizabeth do anything a man ever bade her to do? He should have dragged and shackled her to the inside of the carriage bound for the coast.

No, he should have done all of the above and gone with her himself. Why, she would have twirled that lackwit Joshua Gordon around her fingers within three miles of London’s outskirts.

As he rode away from Windsor with the myriad of horses and carriages from his enterprise following his lead, he pondered the dilemma of Elizabeth Ashburton, only to be called back to the monumental concerns behind him. Literally.

At the top of the rise, he turned to survey all the men riding and leading his race horses as well as several drivers in his signature blue-and-gold carriages. The weight of this world of his rested on his shoulders alone.

He searched desperately for a solution. These men and so many others faced certain destitution. With the flood of soldiers now returning from the battlefields of France and Spain, positions in great houses
were scarce. If his enterprise collapsed, where would they all go?

Oh, he would survive. He was too bloody stubborn to do anything else. Whether it be at a workhouse, the docks, or maybe even on the high seas, he would survive.

He would start all over again.

But before he considered any of it, he would send Elizabeth Ashburton to France. He would do it before the week was out.

She supposed she had always secretly known the reason she preferred campgrounds to London’s ballrooms. The former were far less daunting and the latter far too dangerous.

She understood men and their ways. She would never understand the foibles of the fashionable beau monde.

In so many ways, Rowland Manning reminded her of an officer who endured every obstacle in a never-ending slog of battlefields—never complaining, only enduring with grim determination.

As she approached the entrance to Manning’s, she fidgeted at the memory of him. She had not seen him for two days and an ache had moved to the vicinity of her heart.

Had all of what had passed between them really happened? It seemed a dream now. Had she really screwed up her courage and rode Vespers to victory? And had she had the audacity to share one perfect night with Rowland Manning?

She missed him.

She missed his starkly beautiful face—even the
black scowl he wore nine tenths of the time. If this was not evidence of love, what was?

She had decided to go to him before he came to her. It would go better if she attempted to catch him off guard. She would endure his certain censure for leaving Windsor with the others instead of escaping to France, and then…How was she to explain it to him? How could she make him understand that she didn’t want to run away just yet—that she had to confront Pymm before she did anything else?

Lefroy’s old, wise face was the first one she saw when the carriage halted in front of Manning’s stables.

“You’ve just missed ’im, lovey. But I’d wager ’e’ll return quicker than a bug on a frog’s tongue.”

She nodded and held out a box wrapped in brown paper.

“Wot’s this? Dids you bring old Lefroy a present, then?”

“Payment as promised.”

Mr. Lefroy’s face cracked into a rare smile as he sniffed it. “’Tis us who should be thankin’ you for winnin’.”

A slew of stable hands gathered around, the pungent, sweet scent drawing them like bees to summer blooms. Within moments the dark brown squares of gingerbread disappeared. The feeling that she was useful—was needed—brought her fulfillment.

She had missed that. For the last two years, gratitude had been her prime sensation—for Sarah’s loyalty and for the dowager duchess’s extraordinary generosity in providing for them.

The men drifted away save for Mr. Lefroy. She
brushed at a speck of dust on her practical green walking gown while she stood in the shaded center aisle. “Is he very angry?”

One side of Mr. Lefroy’s mouth curved. “Aye. Angrier than a baited bear.” He scratched his head. “Thought ’e would toss me out on me ear.”

She waited.

“He’ll not forgive me for letting you ride Vespers—even if’n you did show Tatt wot’s wot. Only wish I’d ’a seen it for meself.” He shook his head with a smile.

She leaned the empty box against the stable wall and then crossed two stalls away, where she knew she would find Vespers. She caressed the velvety muzzle and the mare nickered softly. Mr. Lefroy joined her.

Her heart thudded in her chest. “Where is he?” There was no need to say his name. They both knew whom she meant.

“Havin’ another go with someone at the war office.”

The hair rose on the back of her neck. “Who?”

“Some addlepated lieutenant, or a swell wiv more influence, if ’e can manage it.” He paused. “It’s ’is last chance, lovey,” he said under his breath.

She was careful to keep her voice steady, her eyes on Vespers. “His last chance?”

When he didn’t answer her right away, she was forced to meet his eyes.

He shook his head. “No reason te keep it from you. ’e canna keep it a secret from anyone much longer.”

“I would never tell anyone.”

Mr. Lefroy’s old eyes appraised her. “The blunt’s all gone. Creditors are nippin’ and the war office
won’t take the cavalry horses they asked the master to provide. Horses they won’t take now what wiv the frogs hangin’ up their swords. And the creatures be not pretty ’nuf for lords and ladies.”

Vespers draped her head over Elizabeth’s shoulder, in search of a treat, no doubt. “How many?”

“Eight hundred twenty,” he replied. “That’s seventy thousand quid.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin. “So many.
So much
.”

“They’s pastured in the countryside. Cheaper there.”

Her heart felt like it had dropped into her heels.

“I should not ’ave tolds you, lovey,” Mr. Lefroy murmured.

“No. I’m glad you did. And I already promised I would not betray your confidence.” She stared at the weathered face of a man who had more honor and character in his little finger than Leland Pymm had in his entire body. “I’ve got to return to Helston House. Will you tell Mr. Manning that I called? I came to apologize for—well, for so many things.”

As the carriage wended its way back to Portman Square, Elizabeth knew with every beat of her heart that the rules, indeed the entire game, had just changed. Now it was only a matter of how much time she had left and how much she could take away from the table.

The topics of the weather, the days at Windsor, and his absolute favorite subject—the upcoming conferral of the duchy—had been exhausted during the
drive toward the verdant epicenter of London at five o’clock on a summer afternoon. Her intuition told her it was time to play out her hand.

“My dear Elizabeth,” Pymm murmured, drawing the matched pair of dappled grays to a halt in a shady corner past the grand entrance to Hyde Park. “You’ve been the veriest minx. Not that I can say I’m surprised.” He sent his tiger, the boy riding the sloping step above the phaeton’s rear wheel, to hold the horses’ heads.

Elizabeth gazed at the shafts of light filtering through the branches of the ancient trees above. In the distance, the carefully combed, elegantly presented peerage of England continued the tradition of preening before one another. On horseback, in carriages of every shape and color, on foot with parasols, they circled the park.

And every blasted one of them sedately turned their heads when they passed in order to glance at General Pymm and her.

“Now then,” he said, “we have a few last things to discuss, to plan before the—”

“I beg your pardon, but I have something of importance to say.” She rushed her quiet words.

Leland Pymm’s brows drew together, his irritation evident. “I won’t be put off again, Elizabeth. Now, you are to arrange for all of your affairs to be packed and transferred to my rooms at the Pulteney Hotel on Saturday. We will reside there until we leave for Vienna. You shall adore that city. The entertainments are without question opulent and vastly amusing. And when we return, the main portion of our residence will be ready for our occupancy.”

She studied a small black ant as it marched along the edge of the carriage.

“Now, then. Several dressmakers will wait on you at Helston House. It’s understood they will create with great haste a trousseau befitting a lady of your new station. I do hope you appreciate what I’ve arranged.”

“Thank you,” she said, pretending gratitude she could not feel. She looked up to encounter that awful, smug expression he favored. “But I still have something to say.”

“One can hope it will make up for your bizarre behavior at Windsor,” he replied. “I did not like you disappearing and I will not tolerate you disobeying me in future. And you could have shown a bit more of the old charm and sparkle toward Prinny—”

“Please, Leland.” It was the first time she’d allowed the bitter taste of his given name past her lips.

Happiness comically tinged with annoyance crossed his features. “What is it, then?”

She prayed she would be able to say it without losing everything she hoped to gain. “I am begging you to hear me through,” she said quietly.

He tilted back his head and laughed. “What do you want? It must be quite extravagant if you are playing the demure, meek damsel now.”

“Leland…” God, she was risking all. She was risking her life on a wager that Pymm’s obsession bordered on such madness that he would agree to anything to have her.

“Yes?” His tone was condescending.

She closed her eyes and spoke quickly. “Before I marry you, you must arrange payment for the
large number of horses you requisitioned from Manning’s.”

He looked at her as if she was speaking some foreign tongue. Finally the light of understanding dawned and he laughed long and loud. “Good God, but you are fearless. As if I would take orders from anyone, when I only answer to the Prince Regent himself!” He shook his head.

“I don’t think you understand,” she said, attempting a tone halfway between a determined plea and a polite demand. “You see, I will not marry you unless you do.”

Fury boiled in his look and posture. “You ask me to believe that you would risk Newgate prison or worse, all for a bastard horse trader?”

“That is for you to decide,” she said with quiet conviction.

His expression hardened, his skin tightly drawn against his skull.

She looked at him steadily and flung herself off the ledge with words that could be construed to mean two very different things. She had little doubt Pymm would understand. “Leland, my father died under
your
command.”

It was always the smallest things that revealed the truth. In that moment, as her words hung in the air between them, Leland Pymm’s eyes shifted under her scrutiny. It took all of her self-control not to show her absolute revulsion.

“I would have thought you well versed in the rules of war, Elizabeth. Good men are lost every day. Sacrifices must be made for victory.”

Her throat constricted, and it took every effort to
remain still. “Oh, I know the rules of war very well. You taught them to me. Better even than my father, I daresay. My offer still stands. I will marry you if you carry out the terms of Mr. Manning’s contract, or I will not marry you and you will have the choice to accuse me of treason or not.”

His cold eyes filled with rage. “Your loyalty is entirely misplaced and your ability to judge character is deplorable. Manning is nothing more than a bastard son of a whore and brother to a whore, as well.”

Her heart skipped a beat. While her soul screamed at her to defend Rowland, her mind knew that to achieve her goal, silence was best.

“I see by your expression you know nothing about the man. I had him fully investigated the day after that ridiculous tea party at Helston House.”

Her gaze never faltered.

“The bastard you are lowering yourself to champion had a mother who was a common housemaid. After seducing the young heir, she turned to seamstress work and finally prostitution, which obviously came more naturally to her. His sister had the same deficiency in character. Yes, that is the sort of stock he is made of.” He spat out the words. “Manning was nothing more than a pickpocket and a mudlarker, a scavenger feeding off his betters, until he was lucky enough to secure a position in a disreputable stable. He can’t even shoot straight, according to reports this past spring, when he tried to take money from a countess
and
kill his noble
brother
. Is this a man who deserves any sort of charity?”

She concentrated on keeping her hands relaxed, and her teeth ground together. She stayed her course.
“It is your choice, Leland. Pay the man and have me as your bride, or not.”

The evil in his eyes pierced her. “I can promise you one thing, my dearest Elizabeth. If I find you’ve allowed him to touch you—to take that which is only my right to possess—I shall not only punish you as any husband would, but I shall also deal with him as the rules of honor allow any gentleman.”

She knew if she moved an inch from her stiff position, she would break into a million pieces.

“Well? Has he had you, Elizabeth?” he asked in an eerie, quiet voice that did not match the lunacy in his eyes. “Oh, fear not, I will marry you—I will have you—no matter your answer. And I will learn the truth on our wedding night. But”—and here he tucked a curl that had become loose back under her hat—“it will go easier for you if you tell me the truth of it now.”

All those times Rowland had told her she was an abysmal liar revolved in her mind, nearly hamstringing her. “I am a lady, Leland, and I would not do anything to bring dishonor to myself.” She paused to take a breath. “So what is it to be? Am I to stand up before God, and all the noble families of England to marry you?” She didn’t wait for the answer. “If you still desire it, then bring the treasury’s gold guineas to Helston House and I shall have them transferred to Mr. Manning.”

Oh, he blustered, his face became blotchy with rage, but even the most celebrated general in London could do little under the sharp-eyed gaze of the peerage parading nearby. And so he agreed—reluctantly. Very reluctantly. “I cannot and will not provide gold.
He shall have to be satisfied with a bank draft.”