The Marriage Bargain (4 page)

“Ah, yes. Your clothes—are not here at the moment.”

“Not here? I suppose they grew tired of my company and simply walked away?”

Beckett tried not to laugh, but the effort seemed to rile the girl’s anger even more. She grabbed a little clock and launched it at his head. Beckett ducked, and just missed having his face rearranged by the marble timepiece.

He stood straight again and whistled. He had to admit—he was impressed by her spirit.

“So you intend to keep me prisoner like this?” she asked heatedly. “Am I to spend the rest of my days naked in your rooms?”

Beckett paused for a moment, regarding her. She looked like a wild angel, golden hair flowing, creamy shoulders bare, with a mouth the color of roses and eyes that flashed like diamonds. “Don’t put ideas into my head.”

There was a commotion in the hallway. He heard Hartley’s voice: “No, no, Lady Thornby, don’t go in there!”

The door creaked open. In his strangest nightmare, Beckett could not have imagined what he would see there, standing in the hall behind his worried valet.

His mother and his solicitor.

They stared with pale, bloodless faces at the scene before them. Beckett realized what it must look like, standing there with a beautiful, half-naked woman in his bedchamber. Of course, being bare-chested himself wasn’t going to give the correct impression at all.

“Oh,…” his mother cried, her hand to her mouth. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted in a heap of ribbons and lace.

Hartley quickly attended Lady Thornby, but Beckett had the brief thought that his mother resembled nothing so much as a fallen souffle that had been dropped to the floor.

Mr. Livingston of Livingston, Farraday & Peel stood frozen with his great mouth agape, and seemed to be transfixed by the tableau before him. Behind him Martha, the portly cook, mimicked Mr. Livingston’s expression but covered her mouth with a flour-stained hand.

Alfred suddenly appeared beside Beckett as well, seemingly quite amused by the scene.

Monty skittered around the room, still wagging his tail and barking loudly at the girl in the blanket. She still brandished the heavy candlestick, and sized up the new arrivals as if to choose who first to clobber.

“Monty, quiet!” Beckett shouted.

The dog hushed, but everyone else seemed to take it as a cue to pelt Beckett with questions, though Lady Thornby was still out cold.

“—What is going on, sir?” said Livingston.

“—Oh, m’lord, who is that lady? What shall we do?” said Martha.

“—I demand to know who all of you people are!” shrieked the girl.

“I said, quiet, all of you!” Beckett commanded. To his surprise, it worked. “Martha, would you take the young miss into my chamber and try to quiet her nerves?”

“My nerves don’t need quieting,” the girl retorted, eyeing the cook distrustfully.

“Come on, now, miss,” Martha said. “Just do what the master asks.”

“He’s not my master,” she said haughtily. “He hasn’t even told me who he is.”

“Lord Beckett Thornby, at your service,” Beckett said, and made a grand, sweeping bow.

“That means nothing to me.” The blanket slipped farther down her shoulder, and she fought to pull it up.

“How do I even know that you are who you say you are?”

“I can vouch for Lord Thornby’s identity, madam,” Mr. Livingston said. “I am his solicitor, and have been for many years. He is of the utmost character and breeding, I assure you.”

“I don’t care if he’s the regent himself. He has brought me here against my wishes, and now I want to leave.”

“No one is stopping you, Miss…” Beckett prodded.

She sidestepped the question. “You know I can’t leave. I haven’t any clothes—thanks to you, Lord Thornby.”

“We shall procure you some clothes, then, posthaste. And then you may do as you wish. But I insist that you at least stay for breakfast. My reputation would be ruined if it became known I didn’t properly entertain my guests.” Beckett folded his arms in front of his chest and gave a wry smile. “Well? What shall it be, my dear?”

She seemed to weigh her options, and Beckett felt a wash of relief when she nodded her agreement. He nodded to Martha.

“A pot of strong tea for our guest, then, Martha. And whatever else she desires.”

Beckett saw the girl look at him, then. It seemed the implication of his last comment was not lost on her.

Still clutching the candlestick, she followed Martha from the room.

“And you thought bringing her home was a good idea,” Alfred whispered into Beckett’s ear.

“It seems I’ve made nothing but a mess of this.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Beckett patted his thigh to summon Monty, who trotted over to sit obediently beside his master. Beckett crouched down beside his still-unconscious mother.

“Fetch the doctor, Hartley.”

“For the lady, sir?”

“No, for me, after Mother comes ‘round.”

Alfred chuckled.

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” Beckett said, glaring at Alfred, and then at his solicitor. “Livingston, what exactly are you doing here, at this hour of the morning?”

“My lord,” offered Mr. Livingston. “It is well past noon. I met Lady Thornby as she was coming to your door. It was then that I was able to share with her the good news.”

“What good news, Livingston?”

“Why, of your inheritance, my lord.”

“I haven’t got an inheritance, man. That’s my whole problem.”

“Oh, but you do, sir. Your mother’s cousin, the Earl of Ravenwood, has died without any heirs of his body, leaving you the next in line.”

Beckett shook his head. “Lord Ravenwood has both a son and a grandson, Livingston. You are terribly misinformed.”

“Actually, my lord, I am very well-informed. The earl’s son, Lord Haughton, was killed in a boating accident only days before Lord Ravenwood’s own death. Unfortunately, Lord Haughton’s only son was with him and also perished in the accident.”

Mr. Livingston cleared his throat, as if to introduce his next announcement. “I have the honor, my lord, of naming you heir to the sixth earl of Ravenwood.”

Beckett looked from Livingston to Alfred and back again. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“I assure you, it is not,” Livingston replied.

“Oh… I have swooned…” Lady Thornby murmured, regaining consciousness.

Beckett crouched down beside her, assisting Hartley as he struggled to raise Lady Thornby to a sitting position.

“Mother, are you alright?” Beckett asked, daintily adjusting her lace cap from where it had fallen over her eye.

He was rewarded with a hearty slap across the cheek. Well, he thought, as he rubbed the stinging flesh, at least his mother was feeling better.

“I am not alright, Beckett,” Lady Thornby said haughtily. “Thanks to you and your disgraceful shenanigans.”

The portly lady rose to her feet with much grunting and groaning, slapping at the hands of those who tried to help her.

Lady Thornby pointed her finger at her son and brought it and her pinched face slowly in front of his. “I want to know one thing.” She paused for effect, her eyes growing as wide as saucers. “Who is that woman?”

Beckett knew how utterly absurd his reply was going to sound, but he took a deep breath and said it anyway. “I don’t know.”

“This is no time for your silly games. Explain yourself!”

“It’s no game, Mother. Alfred and I found her outside the Goose and Gunner last night and brought her home with us. That’s the truth of the matter.”

“Oh!” Lady Thornby exclaimed. “Of all the—”

“It’s not what you think.”

“I saw a half-dressed hussy in your bedchamber—what should I think?” Her lips compressed into a thin line as she waited for a reply.

“The opposite of what you are thinking,” Beckett said dryly.

Lady Thornby’s voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “To let your own servants see you with a—a trollop like that! Shameful.”

“I told you; she is not a trollop, Mother. The girl was ill. Alfred and I brought her home and we took her straight to bed—I mean, put her straight to bed. I went to sleep in my sitting room, but I must have returned to my own bed without realizing.”

“Ha! That is not in the least convincing,” his mother huffed.

Beckett ignored her remark. “She was unconscious when we found her, so I don’t know who she is. But I’m sure of one thing, she’s no strumpet. She obviously doesn’t live in the street or her feet would not have been cut and bruised so by the cobblestones. And her dress was not in tatters. It looked quite finely made… merely soiled.”

“That only proves that she’s new at the profession and she has a good seamstress,” Lady Thornby replied peevishly.

“You’re wrong, Mother, and I won’t apologize for my actions. She most certainly would have died if we had left her in the street. You know I can’t abandon a creature in need.”

“You want me to believe she’s another one of your strays?” Lady Thornby shrieked, disbelief in her eyes.

“I am getting old, but my brain is far from addled. I saw what I saw. And what’s worse, Mr. Livingston saw it as well.”

“Well, I’m sure that Mr. Livingston can be trusted to keep this quiet.” Beckett gave a meaningful look to the solicitor. “And now that I’m the earl of Ravenwood, what does it matter how many strays I take in—or if they happen to be animal or human?”

“Actually, my lord, you aren’t the earl quite yet,” Livingston said.

“But you said that I was the heir.”

“So you are, my lord, but there is a stipulation in the sixth earl’s will, which is quite standard.” Livingston cleared his throat and continued. “The will specifies that the heir must be married at the time the will is executed, or the estate will immediately pass to your cousin, Mr. Coles of Dorset-shire. In fact, I have already received a letter from his solicitor. As per the earl’s instructions, the will is to be executed tomorrow. Since Mr. Coles is already married, my lord, I would hasten to find yourself a bride.”

Lady Thornby grabbed her son’s arm. “I’m sure the Honorable Miss Cordelia Haversham will take you back, under the circumstances.”

“Mother, I will choose my own bride, if you please,” Beckett said stiffly. “Cordelia Haversham is the last woman in the world that I’d marry. And you well know the reason why.”

“But that dreadful business is all behind us now,” Lady Thornby said, waving her hand in dismissal. “If only I had known that your father had less sense for numbers than a chicken, I could have stopped him from investing in his reckless schemes.”

Lady Thornby yanked her son’s arm so that his ear was close and whispered loudly, “Now, we need only ensure Mr. Livingston’s promise to keep mum about the disgraceful events he witnessed here, and you can ask Cordelia to be your bride. I have always had an affection for her as well you know. She and I are truly kindred spirits. Her mother has been like a sister to me—we are such close friends. And Cordelia would make a wonderful countess!”

“Mother, I would sooner marry that girl in there!” Beckett stood straight and pointed at the closed door of his bedchamber.

“Oh, don’t talk flummery, Beckett,” Lady Thornby admonished.

“Perhaps it’s not flummery,” Beckett said, enjoying the look of horror that had crossed his mother’s face.

“Perhaps I am quite serious about the idea.”

“Fuddle-duddle! It is not your place to choose a bride, especially when that bride will be the next countess of Ravenwood.”

“But it is my place to be led to the altar in a yoke and put to stud, I suppose.”

“Beckett… remember yourself!” she sputtered.

“I should be so lucky as to forget.” Beckett folded his arms across his chest. “It will be up to me to decide, Mother, not you, or the ton, or anyone else. But mark me well, whichever bride I choose, it will certainly not be the Honorable Miss Cordelia Haversham.”

His mother’s eyes flashed. “I’ve always known you’d be a disappointment to me, Beckett. And now, you’ve ruined the one thing that would have made me happy—to bring Cordelia Haversham into the family where she belongs. But if you’re as intent on ruining your life as your father was, well then, I wish you luck.”

“Father did the best he could for us, Mother. He was a kind-hearted man who made the mistake of trusting a swindler. I’m sure he didn’t mean to leave us penniless.”

“Well, you certainly are your father’s son, Beckett,” Lady Thornby said coldly. “You’ve done nothing but embarrass me from the time you could crawl. Always courting trouble, with complete disregard for the scandals you caused with your… your swans and bags of drowned kittens, and four-legged riffraff!”

She brought her face close to his and whispered in a mocking hiss, “Well, now you’re going to create a real sensation, aren’t you? Go on, marry that little trollop in there, or any other hussy you like. It’s none of my concern.”

With a toss of her head Lady Thornby swept down the hall, stopping at the end of it, dramatically. “I will see myself out,” she said, chin high, and disappeared down the staircase.

“I don’t know why I bother going to the theater,” Alfred said. “I see more drama under your roof than I ever do at Drury Lane.”

“So do I,” Beckett agreed, shaking his head.

Mr. Livingston donned his hat. “I’ll be going then as well, my lord. I advise you to find a bride soon, so that we may proceed with the details of the inheritance. Considering the uncertain state of your finances at present, I should think you’ll be anxious to take your new title. Until tomorrow, my lord.” The solicitor made a quick bow and left.

Moments later, Martha emerged from the bedchamber and closed the door quietly behind her.

“How is our guest, Martha?” Beckett asked.

“Restin’, m’lord. She took some landanum with her tea. She’ll sleep for a bit, I expect.”

Beckett nodded. “Let’s leave her until she awakens. Then she and I shall have a little chat.”

The men sauntered down the hallway and entered the drawing room, Monty following. Beckett flopped down on the sofa and looked at his dog, who sat near him, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth and dangling in rhythm with his panting breaths. He looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Beckett reached out a hand and rubbed Monty’s head, bringing an expression of pure ecstasy to the mongrel’s face.