The Fairest of Them All (23 page)

There was one awkward moment when Mr. Lang asked for the groom to place his ring on the bride's hand as a sign of his commitment. Jack didn't have a ring.

“You need a ring,” Mr. Lang said, with Scottish bluntness. “It is part of my ceremony.”

Of course, the Langs had rings he could buy. “We are always prepared,” Mrs. Lang said cheerily.

The problem was, Jack was very low on funds, something he didn't want to admit in front of every­one, and still needed to pay for passages to Boston.

Gavin seemed to divine the situation. “Here, for the ceremony, you can use this.” He removed his own signet ring. “The blessing is over the two of you, not the piece of jewelry.”

Mrs. Lang appeared ready to argue but a shake of her husband's head reminded her that no one countered the Duke of Baynton.

The signet looked heavy and bulky on Charlene's hand, but it served the trick. After the ceremony, she happily handed it back.

Gavin then hosted a delightful meal at the inn in honor of his brother and his bride. Jack could find no rancor in him and was not only ­astonished but deeply grateful.

Later, Gavin stunned Jack and Charlene when he announced that his wedding present to them would be passage to Boston from Glasgow, a sure sign that his blessing had been given to their ­marriage. He even settled the accounts at the inn for their entire party and also generously paid for Mrs. Pettijohn's trip home by private coach.

That night, Jack opined to Charlene that Gavin might have done that for some peace for his own trip.

They were entwined in the middle of the four-­poster bed in the inn's finest room when he made his statement. The extra night for their enjoyment before they started the long trip home had been another gift from his twin.

The mattress was by far the best they had tried and they had given it several good goes already. The Widow Fitzwilliam would be proud. They might have even created their little Libby.

“They are oil and water,” Charlene said. “I've never seen anyone annoy Sarah so easily . . . ­although after the ceremony, I did overhear her tell him that his lending us his ring gave her hope for him.”

“What was his answer?”

“I believe he growled at her.”

Jack laughed. “It is of no matter. Their paths will never cross again. I can't imagine Gavin at the Haymarket. He rarely attends the theater other than to watch the occasional Shakespeare.”

He yawned. “It is good that Gavin had some business in Edinburgh. His trip up here chasing us is not a waste. By the time he returns to London, everyone will have forgotten who we are.”

“Does he ever take time for himself?” ­Charlene asked. “He always seems to be busy, always ­working.”

“My brother is not like most men. He keeps himself on a tight rein and that is unfortunate ­because no one can expect to be moral and capable all the time. Sooner or later, he will rebel. I did.”

“Perhaps then he'll find a woman who will force him to see a different way to live. And then he will want to slay dragons for her . . . just as you did for me.”

“And I always will,” he promised. He gathered his wife closer, marveling at the warmth and the scent of her. Whatever the future held, all that was important to him, all that mattered was right here in his arms.

Life was indeed a blessing.

Epilogue

April 10, 1812

Dear Sarah and Lady Baldwin, since I know she will read this,

I hope this letter finds you well.

We arrived safe a week ago. I must say I did not enjoy ocean travel. Jack has his sea legs but I took to our cabin from the first day almost to the last. My stomach would not settle.

Boston surprised me. It is like London, a bit smaller, and just as exciting. There are squares and parks. Jack and I take a stroll every evening as do most Bostonians although I find the weather a bit too cold for my tastes. Our new friends assure me that this is spring, though they warn we could have snow even into May. Can you imagine? Snow when we should have strawberries blooming?

Jack has introduced me to many of his friends including the governor and his wife. Her name is Sarah as well. I am proud to say my ­husband is well respected. As you know, Jack was ­disappointed that he could not set up a ­meeting with our two governments. Apparently, ­afterward, a Mr. ­Lawrence went to Washington and delivered a report that was not true. Jack will be leaving for Washington in two weeks to defend his record.

Our home is the size of the house on Mulberry Street. I have a small garden with which Jack says I may do whatever I wish. I take notes when I visit friends of what they have done to their houses. My husband has been a complete bachelor and there is much work to be done to the public rooms and our private spaces. I shall find myself very busy.

You would be very comfortable here, dear Sarah. There are many Independent Thinkers in Boston. Jack's friend, a Mr. John Park, has founded a school for the Education of Young Ladies. He joined us for dinner on Monday night and I was interested in all he had to say. He believes in the Intelligence of Women and insists that education is a necessity. I spoke to him about your plays and he said he would like very much to read one.

I need to close this letter. A friend of ours ­offered to carry it to London for me. His ship is sailing this evening and he is most anxious for me to seal it and hand it over to him.

I keep both of you in my thoughts and prayers. Please know that I am happier than I could ever have imagined. Jack is the most perfect of ­husbands. Together, we will build a good life for our family.

With much love and affection, my dearest ones,

Char

Author's Note

Dear Readers,

I must share a few notes over what ­happened after my story ended.

The War of 1812: It gave us the “Star ­Spangled Banner” and the term “war hawks”; saw the White House burned to the ground; and almost gave the British the chance to ­reclaim their former colonies.

The United States Congress declared war on Great Britain on June 18, 1812. A coalition of war hawks, mostly from the Democratic-­Republican Party (yes, that makes me smile, too), pushed President James Madison toward war for causes that I lightly touched on in this book.

The war was unpopular. There were many strong voices in the United States, including Massachusetts Governor Caleb Strong and Virginia Congressman John Randolph, who opposed it. However, the war became a test of our national character. We were either going to pull together or pull apart. It is good to remember how young the United States was. Our government wasn't even thirty years old.

For two and a half years, British troops were once again tramping over our countryside. Both sides won major victories; both lost some. It was a bit of a stalemate.

Finally, on December 23, 1814, the United States and Great Britain negotiated a treaty and the war was done . . . save for an important battle in New Orleans that became the making of a future president.

Happy reading, my friends,

Cathy Maxwell

September 30, 2015

The Duke of Baynton is still searching for the perfect bride . . .

but will he ever make it to his date at the altar?

Don't miss the next

Marrying the Duke novel by

New York Times
bestselling author

CATHY MAXWELL

A Date at the Altar

Read on for a sneak peek . . .

A Date at the Altar

S
arah Pettijohn could not believe who stood on her doorstep—­her least favorite person in the world, the mighty Duke of Baynton.

And she was also certain he held little love for her as well. Therefore, the only reason he could be here is if he had bad news that could not be ­conveyed in any other way than in person. Fear for her niece in Boston gripped her. “Is all well with Charlene?”

“May I come in?

“Yes, of course.” She opened the door wider.

He removed his hat as he stepped inside. His size and presence filled every nook of her small apartment. He looked too fine for the room and its mean furnishings. “This is different from your house on Mulberry Street. I'm surprised you moved.”

“The landlord and I had a difference of ­opinion,” Sarah said, crossing her arms against the un­comfortable feeling of having him this close and in such a confined space. “He wanted the rent and I couldn't pay him.”

“Which is why you were in the Naughty Review last night?”

Heat warmed Sarah's cheeks. Baynton had ­recognized her through her disguise. She ­brazened it out. “I'm an actress, Your Grace. I ­perform on stage.”

“Funny, I hadn't thought to see so
much
of you.” He mimicked her clipped, unwelcoming tone. “Or your breasts.”

“They were covered—­”

“Barely.”

“It was the costume the part called for.”

“Ah, yes, the naked damesoielle role.”

“
Half
naked,” she corrected, turning from him. She'd hated the costume, hated that she'd had no choice but to wear it. “What is your purpose, Your Grace? If something has happened to my niece, tell me now.”

He looked contrite. “I did not mean to alarm you. As far as I know, all is well with Charlene and Jack.”

Her temper flared. “But you let me imagine there might be a problem. You knew I would not let you in under my roof for any other reason, no?”

“Guilty. I did not want to discuss our business in the hall.”

“
Our
business?”

“
I
have a business proposition for you.”

“What sort of business proposition do you wish to make, Your Grace? It can't be the usual. Everyone knows the Duke of Baynton is no mere mortal man. He is above earthy matters.”

“And everyone is aware that Mrs. Sarah Pettijohn is no mere actress. She has principles. She'd never stoop so low as to sing away while ­pumping her legs on a swing over the heads of a pack of hungry lords behaving like dogs.”

For a bald second, Sarah was tempted to pick up the fireplace poker and skewer him with it. The thought of his blood running free on her floor gave her great pleasure. Nor would she defend herself. She had a good reason for ­participating in the Naughty Review and she ­refused to ­explain herself to His Haughtiness. A woman did what a woman must to survive. “A pack of dogs in which you were a member,” she reminded him archly.

“I was there,” he conceded. “Nice legs.”

“Go to devil.”

“I might.”

She walked over to the door and opened it. “Thank you for your call, Your Grace. Now leave.”

He didn't move. “Hear me out.”

“I've heard enough.”

“I wish to spend the night with you.”

“
That
fact was established when you mentioned my breasts, Your Grace, not to mention ­complimenting my legs. You will not be surprised by the answer—­no. Now good day to you.” With a sweep of her hand, she urged him to go through the door.

He did not move. “Hear me out,
and
—­” he ­continued as if knowing she would not be ­convinced, “if you still wish me to leave, then I will do so.”

“If?”
But in spite of her sarcasm, Sarah had a kernel of curiosity as well. Baynton had never taken a mistress. What did he have in mind? She closed the door. “Speak.”

“You don't like me. I understand,” he hurried to add. “But I am not set against you. I find you headstrong and wrong thinking, but I believe that is no crime.”

“How generous of you, Your Grace.”

He ignored her falsetto sweetness. Instead, he began pacing the small confines of her sitting room. “I have a problem. I must marry. I will. I have money, I'm a duke, some woman will want me.”

“Two have already said no,” she silkily ­reminded him.

He stopped. “Yes, they have and that is part of the difficulty. You and I know that I've done the honorable thing to let them marry the men of their choice. It was not because they faulted me. ­However, the rest of the world does not know the full story.” He paused as if wrestling with ­himself and then admitted, “They see me as less of a man.”

“That is nonsense,” Sarah answered.

“And yet it is true.”

She wanted to refute his claim . . . then again, she realized he was right. She'd heard whispers, knew they were unfair to Baynton, however, what could she say that would help? Who cared what an actress thought?

“And so you believe spending a night with me will—­what? Improve your image? I doubt it. My advice is to ride out the gossip, Your Grace. You are strong enough to do so.”

“There you are wrong, Mrs. Pettijohn. First, last night you created a vision every man in that ­theater wanted. They ran backstage for you.”

That was true. She had been a sensation. “I did not encourage them.”

“You needn't. Men are covetous. They see; they want. Having you on my arm will do much to ­restore my reputation.”

“I am not a whore.”

“This is a business proposition,” he replied steadily.

“I. Am. Not. A whore,” she reiterated.

“I would never call you that.” He took a step toward her. “However, you have created an ­impression—­a false one, perhaps—­but people think what they will.”

“And for that I'm to sell myself?”

“Or use this moment in time to your advantage. What do you want that you can't have, Mrs. Pettijohn? How about a lovely house to call your own? The security of knowing no one can ever toss you out of it.”

Tempting. Still . . .

“There are a half a dozen birds around London men would be jealous to see you with, Your Grace. Why me?”

“I require someone who will not be foolish. I do not want bastards.”

He was being smart. Baynton was wealthy. He would be honor bound to support any child he bred. A mother could find herself set for life.

“I also need someone upon whose discretion I can trust.”

“And you believe that is me?” Sarah asked, incredulous.

“As a matter of fact, I do. You actually
do
have principles, Mrs. Pettijohn.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“You think?”

“Yes, you have me confused. You wish discretion and yet you obviously plan on letting everyone in London know we have been lovers. What game are you playing?”

“No game, Mrs. Pettijohn. I need help and you are the only one I can trust.”

“Because?” she prompted.

“Because I'm a virgin, Mrs. Pettijohn.”