The Smithfield Bargain (29 page)

James hid his grin behind his glass as he noted the duke's amusement. Apparently Westhampton already had blackballed one potential suitor for his granddaughter.

“Sit down, Montcrief, if you don't have the decency to leave us to our conversation,” ordered the old man abruptly. “We have no interest in straining our necks while looking up at your ugly countenance.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Montcrief fired another furious glare at James, acting as if he had spoken the slur.

As soon as the blond man sat in a chair facing James and the duke, Westhampton said, “You will remain quiet, Montcrief, while I complete my business with my grandson-in-law. I wish to make you an offer, James.”

“An offer, Your Grace?” He almost laughed at the duke's abrupt use of his given name. It indicated a change in the relationship between them, but it would not be for the better.

“I shall be forthright, for I have seen that you embrace honesty in your unsubtle speech. Every man has his price, and I want you to know that I am willing to pay whatever yours is to arrange for you to take leave of my granddaughter's life.”

James hooked a thumb toward Montcrief. “So you can marry her to him? Have you developed a sudden affection for a man you banished from Westhampton Hall when you thought he would marry Romayne so he could get his hands on the very money you accuse me of desiring? Or do you plan to wed her to Newman?”

“None of that will be your concern.”

“True.” Settling one foot on the opposite knee, he tapped his glass as he said, “Nor, do I suppose, that I should find myself solicitous of her happiness when she is married to another.”

The duke smiled. “I thought you would be a reasonable man. I have heard that the Scots know the value of a shilling.”

“And the value of its more precious cousin, the guinea.”

Cocking his bushy brows, the old man's eyes drilled into James. “Name your price.”

“I would as lief hear what you wish to offer. Then we can negotiate.” As he held up his glass for another serving of the brandy, he laughed. “You may have heard as well Your Grace, that we Scots enjoy bargaining as much as anything else in this life.” He smiled with triumph as he glanced at Montcrief. “Or I should say nearly as much as anything else in this life.”

“Enough!” snapped Westhampton. “I am waiting for your answer. What will it cost me to have this marriage come to a quiet end?”

Leaning back in his chair again, James smiled. “Why don't you call for a bottle of something a bit more festive than brandy, Your Grace, while we discuss this? I am sure you shall name a price that will be satisfactory to both of us.”

Romayne wandered from room to room of the town house on Grosvenor Square ignoring the pain in her head. That her grandfather had offered an invitation for James to join him at his club disturbed her. Grandfather had refused to sponsor Bradley for membership. She wished she could believe the duke was accepting James as a member of the family, but that was idiocy. Since they had arrived in London, her grandfather had said no more than a dozen civil words to her husband.

Entering the book room at the back of the house, she walked to the windows which looked out over the garden. She did not see the first blossoms of spring, for anguish blinded her. Everything was falling apart. Grandfather was acting oddly. Grange could not hide her distaste that Romayne had allowed herself to visit such a low tavern. Bradley was being even more beastly than James.

James …

Tears blurred the garden. Except for the kiss he had given her as he left, which she knew had been to rile her grandfather, he had treated her with the chasteness of a brother since the accident. She appreciated his concern for her well-being, but she craved his arms around her, holding her close as his kisses shut out the troubles surrounding them.

His warnings echoed in her head. Someone wished to kill her? She dared not believe that, although James had never been false with her. When she had sought out Cameron this morning to discover what he could tell her, he had said she must ask Major MacKinnon. His loyalty was commendable, but exasperating.

The door opened, jarring her from her misery. Romayne sighed when Grange entered the room, Dora following like a shadow. The two had become inseparable as they prowled the house, trying to keep track of everyone's business.

“You should have been at the couturière's shop more than an hour past!” gasped Grange in lieu of a greeting. “Madame sent a lad to ask if you were still feeling too ill to call on her. I went to your room to tell you that, but here you are. How do you feel?”

“I am better. I simply forgot the appointment.”
I was too busy wondering if James could be right about the danger
.

Grange's worry became a frown. “Think how vexed she will be when she discovers you have forgotten.”

“Yes,” added Aunt Dora in quick succession, “and think how that will affect the quality of the gowns she shall make for Ellen. Although Lord Culver may present his suit to James any day, for he was so taken with Ellen, she must maintain a certain level of fashion until she is wed.”

“Nonsense!” Romayne rubbed her forehead wearily. “Madame LaBombard is a lady of integrity. She would not let a single missed appointment color her thinking.”

“You must think of someone other than yourself,” Grange chided.

Dora added, “You must think of Ellen. She must—”

Romayne raised her hands. “Be quiet! Both of you!” When the old women regarded her as if she had sprouted horns, she went on, “I missed an appointment with the modiste. That is hardly a crime worthy of sending me to Tyburn to kick the clouds from the end of a noose. I shall address a note to Madame to apologize. She shall be neither offended nor outraged, for I daresay that I am not the first nor shall I be the last to fail to arrive at a specific time. If she is offended, there are other seamstresses in London. I shall not have my life dictated by a couturière. Nor shall I have my life prescribed by you. Now, I trust you can find someone else to irritate and some other place to do it.”

“Lady Romayne!”

“Grange, I never have had to give you an order, and I would prefer not having to do so today. I advise you as well to rethink your incessant listening at doors.”

“I have never—”

“Do not be false with me.” Romayne shook her head sadly. “Do you think I didn't see your shadow when you lurked in the hallway when James came to ask me to go with him in the carriage the day of the accident? I bid you good afternoon.”

Pretending to look out the window, she used the panes as a mirror to watch the old women glance at one another before they left the room in a huff. The door closed loudly, and her shoulders sagged.

She listened to the tall-case clock chiming in the foyer. James and Grandfather had been gone for only an hour. If her grandfather stayed at Brooks's as he usually did, she could not expect them home soon. She must find something to pass the time. Going to the bookshelves, she looked at the books behind the walls of glass.

She selected a book at random and sat on a gold settee to read it. Opening to the frontispiece, she stared at the etched drawing and the words opposite it. None of it made any sense, for the letters swarmed together in front of her tear-filled eyes. She turned the pages, searching for something to offer her solace.

The latch rattled. Romayne clutched her hands on the book as she fought not to shout that Grange had better have a dashed good excuse for intruding again. Her exasperation vanished as she met Ellen's despairing eyes. When Ellen closed the door, then, after hesitating, locked it, Romayne tried to silence the horror that wanted to explode within her. Ellen's action suggested more trouble was brewing.

“Is it true?” the young woman whispered.

Romayne put down her book. “Is what true?”

Ellen's pink dressing gown rustled as she sat next to Romayne. “Did you marry Jamie only to help me find a husband?”

“What gave you such an idea?”

“I just heard Mama tell Grange she would be glad when I was wed, so she and Fergus and Jamie could return to Scotland. Not she and Fergus and Jamie
and
you. Did you marry him only so I could have the Season I had dreamed of?”

“No, of course not,” she murmured, staring down at the book.

“Why did you marry him? Until we arrived in London, I thought you might love him.” Her blue eyes widened. “Do you still love that odious Mr. Montcrief?”

“I assure you that, no matter what you might believe, Bradley is out of my life now that I am married to your cousin.”

“
He
doesn't believe that. I fear he wishes to force Jamie to defend your honor, so he can kill him. Do you think he would be so stupid?”

“James or Bradley?”

Ellen laughed tersely. “Mr. Montcrief, of course. Jamie is a wonderful shot.” Her eyes widened with abrupt dismay as she gasped, “Is Mr. Montcrief proficient with a pistol, too?”

Instead of answering, Romayne posed her own question. “Why do you wish to know such details about our marriage?”

“I need to know if you married Jamie only to allow me to come to London to find a husband because …” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I do not want you to end your marriage at the same time I begin mine.”

“You have accepted Lord Culver's suit?”

“Not yet, but he is a most charming man.”

Romayne concentrated on breathing evenly. This was too quick. Even Philomena had known Mr. Boumphrey for a fortnight before she accepted his proposal. “You would be wise to think carefully. You have only met Lord Culver. Don't you think you need more time to make a decision?”

“No.”

“You are not yet out, Ellen. Why would you end your first Season so early?” Romayne forced a smile. “I don't mean to disparage Lord Culver.”

“I know, but—”

Gently she interrupted again. “There are no buts. He is much older than you, Ellen. Although he could provide you with a comfortable life and make you his viscountess, are you ready to set aside your chance to enjoy London? He plans to return to his estates in Jamaica.”

“Romayne, that does not bother me.”

“It should!” Standing, she put the book back in its place. “Guard your dreams well, for once you compromise them, you risk losing them forever. Are they worth the standing you could gain in Society to push them aside?”

Hearing Ellen's dressing gown whispering as she rose, Romayne faced her. Ellen took Romayne's hand in hers, her smile faltering. “Dear Romayne, you are worrying needlessly.”

“You don't wish to marry Lord Culver?”

She laughed lightly. “He has not offered a proposal to me or to my knowledge approached Mama.”

“Then why are we discussing this?”

“Because I wished to learn the truth. You
are
still my bosom bow. You care about me after I said such frightful things to you.” Sitting again on a chair, she folded her hands in her lap. “I was a widgeon, Romayne, to think that you would betray Jamie in Mr. Montcrief's arms. I wanted to apologize to you, but it isn't easy for me.”

“You have no need to apologize. What you saw was horrible, but I can assure you I shall find it difficult to forgive Bradley for forcing his attentions upon me.”

“So you love Jamie?”

Romayne hesitated. Ellen had bared her heart; could she do less? “I don't know.”

“Then how could you marry him?”

“He asked me.”

“And you wished to protect your reputation?” Her eyes filled with accusation. “I did not believe that when Grange told Mama, but it is true, isn't it?”

“It is more complicated than that.”

“How can it be more complicated? What other reason but love is there for marrying?”

“What other reason?” Romayne repeated. Once she had believed as Ellen did, but that was before she had learned there were as many reasons for marriage as there were people who were willing to chance breaking hearts for their own purposes.

“I asked Jamie the same question, and he had no answer either, but to say that I should not hurry into any decision.”

Hating the words she must say, but knowing she had no choice, Romayne could only recall her grandfather forbidding her to see Bradley again. Had it hurt him to speak those words as it hurt her now? “Mayhap James sees reasons why such a match would be ill-advised.”

“He only cares about me marrying a rich man!”

“You know that is not true. He wants—”

“Why should I care what Jamie wants?” she cried. “He has made a hash of his life! I would be foolish to let him queer mine!”

As Ellen ran to the door, Romayne whispered, “Ellen, wait. Listen to me.”

Ellen unlocked the door and whirled to face her. “Why should I listen to you? Your life is more of a bumble broth than Jamie's!
You
are the one who has compromised her dreams.” She fled, slamming the door behind her.

Romayne dropped to the settee. Ellen was right. She
had
made a muddle of her life by falling in love with her husband. She was an air-dreamer, and her dreams were doomed to ruin. Once the tears began to fall, she could not halt them as she mourned for the tragic tangle of their lives.

Chapter Seventeen

That both James and her grandfather returned from Brooks's club in good spirits added to Romayne's disquiet. Her tears had been wiped away more than an hour before, but her despair was undiminished. Although she had wanted the two of them to be friends, she distrusted this sudden amity. As she watched her grandfather clap James on the back before they parted at the top of the stairs, she hurried to ask James what had happened.

“It shall have to wait until later,” James said with an irritating smile that she had learned signaled his pleasure.

“But, James—”

He kissed her cheek. “Don't be a shrewish wife. Let me ready myself for this party tonight. You wouldn't want me tossed from Mrs. Kingsley's house if I show up in dusty trousers and an afternoon coat.”