There's Something About Lady Mary (34 page)

“You are not going to believe this,” William said as he pushed his way past Ryan. “Close the door; we need to talk.”

“Can it wait until I’m properly dressed?” Ryan asked.

“Would I be here if it could?” William fumed.

“I suppose not.” Ryan grabbed a shirt from a nearby chair and pulled it over his head. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“That. . .that despicable woman.” William was so distressed he seemed unable to get the necessary words out of his mouth.

“Who on earth are you talking about?”

“Lady Stephanie, of course; who else?” He shoved the newspaper in Ryan’s face. “Read this.”

Ryan took the paper and unfolded it somewhat hesitantly, casting his brother a sidelong glance as he did so. He looked just about ready to explode, and
that
worried him—especially after last night’s events. His eyes scanned the front page.

“Well?” William prompted.

When Ryan looked up at his brother, there was murder in his eyes. “I am going to kill her,” he told him softly, tossing the paper aside and reaching for his boots. “I am going to bloody kill her.”

“And I am coming with you.” William smiled wryly. “I’ve never been to Clayden House before.”

S
tephanie’s father, Peter Maplewood, the Earl of Clayden, was in his study when his butler came to inform him that the Summersbys had come to call. He knew Lord Moorland, of course, but had never spoken more than one or two words to his sons. Naturally, he couldn’t help but wonder why they might have come.

An idea struck him. Was it possible that one of them had come to offer for Stephanie? He’d heard that the younger of the two had developed an attachment to the Marchioness of Steepleton, so perhaps the elder was the one with an interest in his daughter. Peter considered this thought with growing excitement. If that was the case, his daughter would one day be the Countess of Moorland.

“Show them in,” he said, without further hesitation. But when the two men strode into his study, Peter knew that a marriage proposal was the furthest thing from their minds.

“Lord Clayden, did you happen to see the
Mayfair Chronicle
this morning?” Mr. Summersby asked without preamble.

“I. . .I am afraid not,” Peter stammered, surprised by the question. When he’d come down for breakfast that morning, Stephanie had already taken the paper up to her room. He hadn’t had a chance to look at it since.

“Well, perhaps you would like to read it now.” Mr. Summersby tossed the paper onto Peter’s desk. It landed with a thud. “And then you can tell us what the devil your daughter thinks she is playing at.”

Oh, no.

Peter read the fine print with growing concern. A shiver ran down his spine at the sight of his daughter’s name. And there was Lady Arlington’s name, together with Lady Warwick’s. Lady Steepleton’s was there too in big, bold letters, followed by more accusations than might be bestowed upon the worst kind of villain.

Dear God in heaven, what has she done?

“I can assure you, gentlemen, that I intend to have a very serious word with her about this the instant she gets home.”

“So do I, Lord Clayden.”

Mr. Summersby held Peter’s gaze unflinchingly until the older man eventually acquiesced. “As you wish, though I must warn you that it might be a while.”

“I am sure your butler can offer us a drink with which to pass the time,” Lord Summersby declared, to which Peter could only nod. What a god-awful day this was turning out to be.

A
s it happened, Ryan and William were in for a two-hour wait. Ryan considered walking over to Mary’s house a few times, just to see how she was doing. He could only imagine what she must be going through after reading the headline. But each time he got up to leave, he wondered if it wasn’t best to stay and wait for Lady Stephanie. She wouldn’t be getting off lightly this time—at least not if he had anything to say about it.

The front door eventually opened to the sound of chirping female voices. Lord Clayden, who’d joined Ryan and William in the parlor, got up and went to greet his wife and daughter. A moment later, the three members of the Maplewood family made their entrance.

“What a lovely surprise,” Lady Clayden remarked. She practically pushed her daughter out in front of her, to be quite sure that she wouldn’t go unnoticed. “Have you come to call on Stephanie?”

“Actually, my dear. . .” Lord Clayden’s voice trailed off as he noticed the frosty looks the brothers were directing at his daughter.

Lady Clayden, caught up in her own little universe, missed it entirely. Lady Stephanie, on the other hand, didn’t appear to do so, for she held a stubbornly arrogant tilt to her chin that made Ryan want to slap her. The urge increased when she offered both men a dazzling smile.

“We certainly have.” Ryan’s voice was full of disgust for the woman before him, with her fake smile and her pretentious attitude. “Indeed, there is a great deal for us to discuss.”

“Well, perhaps we ought to leave you to it then,” Lady Clayden chuckled before turning to her husband. “Come, let us go.”

“I don’t think—” Lord Clayden began.

He was interrupted by Ryan. “I am generally a patient man, but it does seem as though my patience has run out. Now, please sit down, if you will.”

His tone was curt to the point of rudeness. Lady Clayden looked at him in astonishment. She then looked at her daughter, who was suddenly quite pale. Then she looked at her husband, who nodded toward the chair closest to her. “Very well,” she said, perching herself on the edge of her seat.

“You too, Lady Stephanie.”

“I would rather remain standing, if you don’t mind.”

“Sit down this instant, or so help me God, I will shove you into that chair myself,” Ryan barked.

Lady Stephanie shrank backward, practically stumbling into her seat as she began to acknowledge the severity of the situation. Lady Clayden gaped at Ryan as if they’d all been accosted by a madman, while her husband looked rather pleased with the way in which Ryan had taken charge of his unruly child. Well, it was about time that
somebody
did
something
to put the girl in her place.

“Must you really be so. . .undisciplined, Mr. Summersby?” Lady Clayden sought out William and met his gaze. “This really is quite inappropriate, you know.”

“What your daughter has done is far more inappropriate, Lady Clayden,” William told her in an even tone.

“I see.” The countess stiffened slightly as she turned to her daughter with an imploring look in her eyes.

“Well?” Ryan stared at Lady Stephanie with all the vehemence in the world. “Aren’t you going to tell your dear mama what you have done?”

“I cannot possibly imagine what you mean,” Lady Stephanie mumbled.

Ryan leaned forward until his face was inches away from hers. “Listen to me, you conniving little witch. You have deliberately tried to ruin the reputation of one of the best women in England. She is above you in every conceivable way—in rank, intellect, kindness. . .In truth, she is a thousand times the woman that you will ever be. So for you, a little rat, to try to destroy her for your own personal and selfish gain is completely unacceptable.”

He straightened himself and adjusted his jacket. “Your daughter, Lady Clayden, has published an article in today’s paper, a slanderous article built on nothing but hate and envy. She has taken it upon herself to spread the most outrageous lies about the Marchioness of Steepleton, my betrothed.”

Lady Clayden looked as if she would faint, while Lady Stephanie appeared as though she might actually spit at Ryan in response to this final declaration.

“It’s not all lies,” Lady Stephanie snarled. “Lady Arlington’s cesarean and Lady Warwick’s surgery—”

“Ah, yes, two other ladies whom you decided to drag through the mud as well.” He stared at her coldly. “Unfortunately, you are mistaken, Lady Stephanie. Neither lady was ever treated by Lady Steepleton; it seems as though your source of information was quite wrong.”

“But I. . .I know from both Lady Arlington’s maid and Lady Warwick’s, they—”

“But who will believe you when the most outrageous evidence of all was nothing but a figment of your own twisted imagination?”

Lady Stephanie gaped at him in horror as the meaning behind his words began to sink in.

“So here is what you are going to do, Lady Stephanie,” Ryan continued. “You are going to renounce every single word in that article of yours, and you are going to do so by this afternoon so that it makes tomorrow’s paper. Do I make myself clear?”

“But I will be thought the worst possible liar in all of England. Everyone will hate me.”

“So then, it really won’t make much difference to you, will it? You are already the worst possible liar in all of England, and from what I hear, you don’t have very many friends either.”

“She may face charges,” Lord Clayden said, realizing the implications of his daughter’s actions.

“It is more than likely that she will,” Ryan agreed.

“Surely there is another way.” Lady Clayden quickly jumped to her daughter’s defense.

“I’m afraid not,” Ryan told her grimly. “As it is, your daughter may already have caused irreparable damage.” He turned toward Lord Clayden. “I trust that you will help her write a plausible retraction letter, my lord.”

“You have my word on it, Mr. Summersby.” He rose to his feet to see his visitors out. “As to the other matter that we have discussed. . .”

“I shall have a word with Jennings right away,” William promised. “He was rather eager when we last spoke, and as I mentioned before, he will be very firm with her.”

Lord Clayden nodded gratefully. “That’s precisely what she needs—a bit of structure and discipline. Her mother and I have, unfortunately, let those slip.” He allowed the butler to open the front door. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your visit. I will do my best to ensure that Lady Steepleton’s name is cleared by tomorrow morning.”

“W
hat now?” William asked once Lord Clayden’s butler had closed the door behind them.

“I have to talk to Mary,” Ryan told him. “It’s time I made a proper proposal.”

“You’ll need a ring for that.”

“And flowers too—roses, I believe, a big bouquet of red roses.” Ryan sighed, his forehead creasing in a pensive frown. “And even with all of that I’m not entirely sure that she will still have me.”

“Why the devil not? I thought the deal was as good as sealed, that the ring was just a formality.”

“We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms last night,” Ryan admitted as he hailed a hackney to take them to Bond Street.

William waited for Ryan to get in, then jumped up onto the opposite bench. “It seems as if it’s becoming quite a bad habit of yours, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

“Well, every time you and Lady Steepleton part ways, you always manage to put your foot in your mouth and say something that undermines all of your other efforts to woo her.”

Ryan raised a critical eyebrow.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what happened this time.”

There was a tense moment of silence, after which Ryan finally met his brother’s curious gaze. He sighed heavily. “She wanted me to declare myself to her, and I froze.”

“You froze?” There was a note of incredulity in William’s voice.

“It was awful, William. I knew what to say—what she wanted me to say—but the words just wouldn’t come, and before I knew it, she was gone, and I was left standing alone on her doorstep.”

“It seems to me that you might be needing more than just a ring and some flowers.” William’s voice was most grave. “In fact, I would suggest you bring along a string quartet and a small pony. Tie a ribbon around its neck, and that just might do the trick.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, but William persisted. “I don’t think you realize just how serious this is.” He studied his brother for a moment. “Do you love her?”

“Of course I bloody love her, William.” His voice was tinged with annoyance. “I wouldn’t be marrying her otherwise.”

“All right,” William said and grinned. “Then let’s try to salvage this relationship before it turns into an even greater fiasco.”

I
t was almost three by the time they made it to Brook Street, much later than Ryan had ever intended. He only hoped that the outrageously expensive square-cut emerald he’d bought for Mary would work in his favor.

“May I help you?” Thornton asked upon opening the door.

Ryan straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, ready to do battle. “I have come to call upon her ladyship. May I come in?”

“I am afraid her ladyship has left town,” Thornton remarked somewhat affectedly.

Ryan’s jaw dropped.
Left town?

“Where has she gone, if I might ask?” He did his best to keep his voice casual, but the despair he suddenly felt seeped through all the same.

“I am afraid that it is not my place to say, particularly since she specifically asked me not to.”

That wasn’t exactly what Ryan was hoping to hear. She’d not just run away; she’d run away from
him
.

“What if we were to ask you where she has gone? Would you give us an honest answer?” William asked.

“I have never been prone to tell fibs,” Thornton remarked. “But I am also loyal.”

“Yes, of course; I wouldn’t dream of suggesting otherwise.” William pulled a wad of bank notes from his pocket. “However, I am presuming that she either will be back at some point or intends to send for you in the near future. If not, you would already be out looking for another place of employment. So logic decrees that she has not decided to leave the country. Now, if she were from a large family, I would say that she had gone to stay with one of her relatives. However, since these appear to be in short supply, I am more inclined to believe that she might have gone to Steepleton House in Northamptonshire instead. I am also willing to bet that this fifty-pound note is about to confirm that.”

Thornton eyed the money with great interest. It was obvious that he wanted it, but he was also the sort of man who’d never forgive himself for betraying his mistress. So he hesitated until Ryan and William both felt as though they were turning old and gray with each passing second.