Page 12 of A Wicked Business (Wicked Sons #10)

Georgette stared at her grandfather, hardly able to comprehend what it was he was telling her. Even after living with him for six years, his indifferent cruelty never ceased to surprise her.

“Lord Hanover?” she repeated, her heart thundering, certain she must have misheard, misunderstood. Perhaps his lordship had a son of her own age, for the only Lord Hanover she knew of was a disgusting satyr, older even than her grandfather and known to be a hard and unfeeling brute. Surely, even this man, who had never shown her a mite of kindness, would not be so very cruel as to marry his sixteen-year-old granddaughter to such a man?

―Excerpt from Chapter Three of ‘His Grace and Disfavour’, by an anonymous author.

4 th August 1850, Keston House, Grosvenor Square, London.

“Whatever do you mean, you’re going to marry him?” Doris stared at Belinda as if she thought she’d run mad.

Belinda didn’t blame her in the least. Perhaps she had. It was entirely possible the excesses of emotion she had experienced today had addled her brain and unhinged her. Nevertheless, she had made her decision, and she meant to abide by it.

“Just what I say,” Belinda said with a sigh, suddenly exhausted by everything she had felt and said and done this day. She just wanted it all over with. It had been hard to burst Doris’ little bubble of happiness, for her maid had come home all aglow and clutching a small posy of violets. Belinda was genuinely delighted that Mr Kirby seemed to be intent on courting her, but for Doris’ sake too, she knew she must move swiftly.

“But you can’t!” Doris said, looking stricken.

“I can, and I shall, but it will be on my own terms,” Belinda said, taking Doris’ hands and drawing her down to sit beside her on the bed. She had not yet left her room since her storm of tears, and it was taking all her force of will to appear calm and certain of herself when she felt nothing of the sort. “Listen to me. You know I must refuse to do as Papa wishes and deny him whatever scheme he has in mind. It is bound to profit him and not me, and I cannot have that. But, if I refuse, the first thing he will do is send you away.”

Doris blanched, having clearly not considered this as a possibility. She considered it now and Belinda watched the truth of her words sink in.

“He would,” Doris said, clutching at Belinda’s hands. “He’d want you alone, weakened. Easier to manage you that way.”

Belinda nodded. “You see now why I must marry Lord Ashburton?”

“I suppose so,” Doris said, frowning. “But you must not sacrifice yourself on my account, my lady. I would never forgive myself if you was unhappy. You were always so dead set against him.”

“I know,” Belinda said with a wan smile. “But only because it could never be a love match between us. I had hoped, you see, but… well, never mind what I had hoped. The match has the advantage of pleasing Papa, so he’ll not kick up about it, and Ashburton is a decent fellow so I shall be content enough, and no more of this sacrificing myself. I’m not some Gothic heroine, but neither am I willing to part with you, not unless you marry your darling, Charles, at least. Don’t fear, Doris, I’m sure we’ll rub along well enough, but I must make Ashburton see the wisdom of it, too. He’s never liked the idea any more than I have, but I hope that if he sees we can go forward as friends, that I shall never interfere in his life, that the idea might be more appealing to him. After all, everyone knows Montagu is pressuring him to marry. Ashburton needs his heir and spare and he’s shown how damned choosy he is. All those poor debutantes throwing themselves at his feet and he’s turned his nose up at every one of them.”

Doris frowned at her and Belinda got to her feet, hoping to deflect the question she knew was coming. “So, I must get out of the house and see him. Now. This evening, Doris. There is no time to be lost. I suppose it is possible that he’s the man Papa has arranged for me to marry, but I doubt his ability to persuade Ashburton. He’s Montagu’s son through and through. A stubborn devil, so cold and unemotional. Even Papa could not pierce that icy armour, I’m certain. But either way, I must speak to him first, must make him see I will only agree to the match if we have our own contract drawn up between us, settling things in writing.”

Belinda went to her dressing room, speaking over her shoulder. “Should I wear that new bottle-green gown, do you think?” Except when she saw the colour, she was reminded forcibly of the colour of Mr Knight’s eyes and her heart clenched. “No. Perhaps that dark violet. I’ve had it a sennight and not had the chance to wear it. Yes, that will do nicely, don’t you think?”

She turned to look at Doris, who was standing in the doorway of the dressing room. Suddenly, the woman hurried up to her and pulled her into a hug. Doris was far bigger than Belinda, who was smothered against her motherly bosom, whilst a gentle hand stroked her hair.

“What happened, my lamb?” Doris asked, her tone far softer and sweeter than any Belinda had ever heard. “What did that wicked man do to set you off on this course? And don’t tell me he ain’t done nothing, for I won’t believe it.”

“He hasn’t done anything, not ‘ain’t done nothing.’ That’s a double negative,” Belinda said absently, her voice breaking as the wretched tears began again. “And d-don’t be nice to me, you wretched creature. I’m b-being sensible and taking c-control,” she blubbed, dissolving against her friend in a way she would never have thought possible just days earlier, for she never cried like this anymore, not since she was a child, and now she’d done it twice in one day.

Doris huffed with impatience. “Never mind me bleedin’ grammar! Lord, you’d try the patience of a saint, Belle, my love. What did that dreadful man do? You tell Doris and I’ll have a few not so polite words for him, I promise you.”

Belinda tried her best to calm herself, pushing away from Doris’ engulfing chest before she suffocated. Still, her bottom lip wobbled dramatically. “I asked him to m-marry me, and he looked so horrified and refused at once and with such vehemence, and th-then he kissed me like I was his lost love, and th-then he said it was a dreadful mistake, and th-then I said some hateful things to him that I never meant and now he will think me as vile as Papa and be glad he is r-rid of me!” Belinda wailed, throwing herself back into Doris’s arms.

As Belinda sobbed miserably, Doris guided her back to the bedroom. Her usually stoic maid was all sympathy, making soothing noises as she undressed her and put her into her nightclothes. Once tucked up in bed, Belinda was coddled with hot chocolate and sugar biscuits while Doris quieted her by explaining in detail the many and increasingly inventive ways in which she was going to murder Mr Knight and dispose of what little remained of him in the most humiliating way possible.

5 th August 1850, Montagu House, St James’s, London.

Philip ‘Pip’ Barrington, Earl of Ashburton, watched his daughter and her governess surreptitiously from his position at the library desk as they played chess. Mrs Harris was looking amused as Tilly, the wretch, proclaimed, “Check!”

At eight years old, Tilly was as beautiful as a porcelain doll. Her skin was perfection, her fine bone structure exquisite, and her eyes the same glinting silver as her grandfather’s, the intimidating Marquess of Montagu.

“That’s not check,” Mrs Harris told her placidly.

“Yes, it is!” Tilly objected. “It is, look.”

Mrs Harris listened patiently to all the reasons why Tilly was correct and then shook her head. “No, child. You are wrong. Figure out why.”

“I am not wrong!” Tilly said furiously, springing to her feet.

Pip opened his mouth to chastise his beloved little madam, but Mrs Harris just quirked an eyebrow at her. Tilly flushed.

“I beg your pardon, Harry,” she said meekly and sat back down again, studying the board with an expression of intense concentration.

Mrs Harris smiled and reached for her teacup, pausing with it in midair as she noticed Pip watching her. A tinge of colour touched her cheeks, and Pip knew he ought to look away. But Mrs Harris was a thorn in his side, a stone in his shoe, a bothersome puzzle, a gnat that buzzed constantly in his ear and would not be quieted.

She looked away first, returning her attention to her charge, and Pip sighed, forcing his attention back to his papers. The names laid out before him detailed the shortlist he had made of those women he might consider a good choice of wife to him and mother to Tilly. Asking a well-bred lady to be mama to his bastard daughter was the height of bad taste among polite society, he knew, but he would ask it, nonetheless. Anyone wanting to become the next Marchioness of Montagu when he inherited his father’s title would need to not only agree to it, but to prove to him they did so wholeheartedly and with no resentment. For Tilly would know if they did not mean it and he would protect her heart with every weapon at his disposal. His own happiness was of no moment. He had forfeited that right when he had made her mother pregnant through his own carelessness and she had died because of it.

Staring at the list, he crossed one off with a sharp sweep of his pen, black ink cutting through the lady’s name. She was only nineteen, barely more than a child to his mind. Frowning, he glanced again at Mrs Harris. Mrs Harris. He had never believed that. Though the airs she affected and her disapproving manner put years on her, she was not as old as she made out. When she had first arrived six years ago, he had put her anywhere between twenty and thirty, but she had finally stopped doing whatever it was she did to make her hair look so damned awful and brittle. Or perhaps she had just discovered a soap that suited it and made it shine as it now did. She had relaxed somewhat, too, perhaps finally believing he was not the monstrous seducer of innocents she had thought him to be. He hoped so, anyway. Whatever it was, she looked no older now than when she had first arrived, and he still felt uncertain what age that was. Anywhere between twenty and thirty, he supposed, but thought her closer to twenty than he had previously imagined. But no, that couldn’t be right. She’d have been a child herself when she began working for him… and yet…

Stop thinking about the blasted governess , he chided himself, but found himself looking up again. To his surprise, Mrs Harris was watching him. She started and returned her attention hurriedly to the chessboard.

Oh. Now that was interesting.

No. it wasn’t, he told himself severely. It wasn’t the least bit interesting, and he had a wife to choose. Pip pinched the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he ought to have agreed to Keston’s proposal and then he would not have to bother with all this. It had been a generous offer, to be sure, though Keston would gain through it too, snooty bastard that he was. Montagu’s lineage and the inherent power associated with that title was such that Ashburton had been a target for hungry matchmakers almost since he was in short trousers. The earl might be high in the instep, but his title was a relatively new one and did not carry as much weight as he would like. Links to the Barrington line would suit him down to the ground, though if he was expecting an invitation to sojourn at Dern Palace, he’d be disappointed. Pip’s mama loathed the man and, whilst his father afforded Lord Keston no more notice than he might a disagreeable smell, he would not have his lady wife in any way discomforted.

He looked up as a knock at the door heralded the arrival of a footman who entered quietly. “A lady is here to see you, my lord.”

Pip frowned. He had not been expecting anyone, and he was in no mood for visitors. “A lady?” he repeated sceptically, for ladies did not visit unmarried men at home. “Does she realise my parents are no longer in town?”

“I informed the lady of that, but she was adamant, my lord,” the footman said quietly, passing him an elegant, embossed card.

Pip looked down at the name and groaned. “What the devil does she want?” he muttered, wondering if he’d conjured the woman by thinking of her father’s offer. “Very well. She’s in the drawing room?”

The footman nodded, and Pip got to his feet. Whatever Lady Belinda wanted, it would do neither of their reputations any good if anyone saw her here. The quicker he got rid of her, the better.

5 th August 1850, Montagu House, St James’s, London.

Regina Harris, or ‘Harry’ to her obstinate charge, looked up as Tilly leapt up the moment the door had closed and ran to the desk where her father had been sitting. She reached for the card the footman had given him and read it out loud.

“Lady Belinda Madox-Brown.”

“Tilly!” Regina objected. “What have I told you about snooping into your father’s affairs?”

“Oh, Harry, don’t be a stick in the mud. You know as well as I do you don’t want Papa to marry any more than I do.”

Regina started at the girl’s words. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“If Papa marries, things will change. He’ll have to please his wife, and she’ll not want me around. Eventually she’ll persuade him I need to go away to school, and if I go, you’ll go too!” Tilly said, sounding rather frantic.

Swallowing, Regina had to acknowledge Tilly was perfectly right and she was unable to fault her logic. “Lady Belinda seems nice, Tilly,” she said cautiously. Regina had known her time with this family would end one day. After all, little girls grew up, but she had not expected it quite yet. Foolish of her. The earl needed an heir and a spare and his father was putting increasing pressure on him to provide them.

“Nice?” Tilly repeated, her expression so incredulous that Regina had to suppress a laugh.

“Well, she’s rather forthright, I grant you, but at least she’s not a milk-and-water miss,” she said, trying at least to console Tilly.

Tilly had a mulish expression on her face, which boded ill. Regina sighed as the girl stalked over to her. “Come, Harry,” Tilly said, grasping her hand and tugging at it.

Regina got up but frowned at Tilly. “Where are we going?” she demanded, but Tilly shook her head, pulling her out of the room.

Regina was aware she ought to protest, but morbid curiosity overwhelmed what she knew to be right, and she allowed Tilly to hurry her across the hall and into the salon beside the drawing room. When the girl hurried to the door that led into the drawing room and pressed her ear against it, however, Regina had to draw the line.

“Tilly!” she whispered urgently, horrified.

“Hush!” Tilly said, flapping her hands at Regina as her face paled. “Oh, Harry, she’s asking him to marry her!”

“What?” Despite knowing it went against every rule of etiquette she had spent the last six years trying her best to drum into Tilly, Regina hurried to stand beside her. The voices on the other side were somewhat muted but still perfectly audible.

“I’m afraid I already turned down your father’s offer,” Lord Ashburton said, firmly but not unkindly.

“He did offer me to you, then?” Lady Belinda said, and then laughed. “You must give him points for effort, my lord.”

“Oh, I do, but not so many as to tie up my future to please him.”

“I understand that, believe me, I do. Which is why I am here. May I be frank, Ashburton?”

The earl laughed softly. “You have just proposed to me, Lady Belinda. I believe you are capable of anything, and I have never known you to be anything but frank.”

“I deserved that,” Lady Belinda said ruefully. “But I prefer plain speaking and, the truth is, my father is determined I marry this year. You are the only man of whom he approves that I believe I can stomach.”

“You flatter me,” Ashburton replied, his tone wry.

“Not really, the other options are too ghastly to contemplate,” Lady Belinda said candidly, startling the earl into giving another bark of laughter. “The thing is, I know you don’t want to marry me any more than I wish to marry you, but you must marry, and my father will bully and coerce me to do the same. I thought if I came to you, openly, and suggested that we make a deal, that perhaps marrying me would not be such a terrible idea.”

“A deal?”

Regina felt her heart jolt at the interest in the earl’s voice. Surely, he would not do such a rash thing as to agree?

“Yes, my lord. I believe, if we deal honestly with each other, we might be friends, and we might find a way forward. I know, for example, that your daughter means the world to you. I can give you my solemn promise that I will be a friend to her. I will never seek to dislodge her from your affections, not that I am foolish enough to believe I could. Neither will I interfere in her education or demand she is sent away to school. I do not believe I have the necessary requirements to be a new mama, as perhaps you may wish. I am, as you have remarked, rather too blunt in my manners to be a motherly sort, but I will do all in my power to be a kind and loyal friend and companion, and I will allow no one to make her feel less than she is for the circumstances of her birth.”

There was silence in the room, and Regina had to admit this young woman’s open manner and obvious sincerity impressed her. Would the earl really want such a marriage, though?

“And what about you, my lady?” the earl asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. “What would you want from our union?”

“A safe place to be, with a man who will not interfere in my life or reproach me over the choices I make, as I will so honour his decisions.”

“That’s all?” Ashburton sounded surprised. “I take it you are not plotting treason?”

Lady Belinda laughed. “No, I promise I have nothing of the sort in mind at present. But my money and my life will be my own to lead, as yours will belong to you. I want it in writing.”

“You are indeed to the point, madam.”

“I see no value in being otherwise, my lord.”

“And what of love?”

The question hung in the air and Regina felt the echo of it resound in her own heart, the pain she felt there an exquisite dart of steel through the unprotected softness. She had dreamed of love once, such a long time ago now, but those days were gone and such dreams with them.

“What of it?” Lady Belinda replied, her voice suddenly melancholy. “Such tender emotions are not for the likes of us, my lord.”

“Have you met my parents?” he asked, sounding amused.

The lady laughed again at that. “Everyone knows the story of The Eagle and the Lamb. I have a well-read copy of it myself, but we both know such love stories as theirs are rare, and we don’t all get such happy–ever-afters. Men are rarely so noble as your father and women are seldom so courageous and loyal as your mama.”

“You do yourself a disservice, Lady Belinda. It took a good deal of courage to come here today, and you have offered my daughter your loyalty. I do not take such things lightly.”

“I am sure I am doing you a disservice too, my lord, and perhaps one day we shall find love, but it will not be with each other.”

“Ah, such certainty tells me that your heart is engaged already, my lady. Are you quite sure this arrangement is what you want?”

“What I want?” There was a scathing note to the question. “There speaks a man. Since when does what I want have any bearing upon my life? I am doing what I must to protect myself and my own interests, and I believe I can be what you need me to be. Now it is up to you to decide if you will accept my offer or not.”

Regina and Tilly exchanged a glance, both holding their breath.

“I accept,” the earl said. “I’ll have the papers drawn up at once. If you would be so good as to return this afternoon, you can look them over and we can make whatever changes are necessary. Then I suppose I must return to your father and tell him I have reconsidered his offer.”

“Yes, you must. You promise you will tell him nothing of our arrangement, though?” Lady Belinda said urgently.

“You have my word.”

“Very well. I shall return later today. Thank you, my lord.”

“My friends call me Pip,” he offered.

There was a brief pause. “I cannot call you that,” she said at last. “I think it best we keep things formal. I shall call you Ashburton.”

“As you prefer, my lady.”

The sound of the doors opening and footsteps out in the hall reached them and then receded as the earl returned to the library.

“Oh, Harry! We’re saved!” Tilly said, her lovely face alight with relief. “Did you hear what she said? She won’t interfere, and she won’t send you away, and she’ll be my friend too! Isn’t that marvellous?”

“Marvellous,” Regina replied with a smile that was not as easy to find as she would have liked.

Would Lady Belinda really keep her word and not interfere, and would the earl be happy with a loveless marriage? She thought not, for she had met his parents and knew their relationship for something rare and beautiful. Surely a man brought up by such parents could not be satisfied with such an arrangement? The notion that he would live to regret his hasty decision troubled her. Yet she was only his daughter’s governess and in no position to advise him, so there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.