Page 9

Chapter Nine

The Plot Thickens…

M arina had been so stunned when the Earl of St. Aiden had stepped from the shadows that she could barely think. The moment that Lady Crowden had identified him she’d been mortified. It all seemed too convenient. The man whom she’d thought was flirting with her was suddenly in a tryst with the very woman her former betrothed had been secretly—well, not wooing. Clearly Lady Crowden had been quite wooed already. It had to be some sort of elaborate plot or scheme. Otherwise, why were they all there? Elizabeth, Lady Crowden, Stanford, Mr. Nutter. How was it that every person whom she detested had all come together in this one moment? Surely it could not be a coincidence!

“What has that wretched girl done now?” Willa demanded. “And was that Stanford lurking in the corridor? What is he doing back in town?”

It took Marina a moment to answer, a moment to formulate her thoughts. She couldn’t tell the truth. It sounded positively mad. So she did something quite out of character for her. She lied.

“I didn’t see him,” she denied. “I ducked into this room because I was trying to avoid Mr. Nutter.”

“And Miss Whitmore? What was she doing here?” That snapped question had come from her uncle.

Marina realized she’d been silent for too long, all the strange circumstances running through her mind. Meeting Willa’s worried gaze and shying away from Devil’s perturbed one she shook her head. She hated to admit it, to admit what she had done, especially to her aunt. In truth, Willa was the only mother she’d ever known, and she would be so disappointed. But the woeful tale simply tumbled out. “I had words with her in the ladies’ retiring room earlier, along with Charlotte. And when I was making my way back to the ballroom, I heard her speaking with Mr. Nutter. She was assisting him in his search for me, likely because she meant to put us in a situation where he would propose and—”

“And you would refuse because the man could bore a corpse,” her uncle concluded. “So you hid in here not knowing the room was occupied?”

“Yes,” Marina nodded. “Precisely.”

“And how is it that Lady Crowden discovered you here?” Willa asked.

“She was already here,” Marina stated.

At that point, the three of them turned to the gentleman who had waited silently and patiently while they examined the situation. He was a key player in the farce but, thus far, had been largely ignored by everyone to that point. Beyond her brief interaction with him in the drawing room, he wasn’t known to any of them, well certainly not to her or her aunt. He’d indicated before that he was acquainted with her Uncle Valentine which meant he might very well be acquainted with Devil.

“St. Aiden? I wasn’t aware the old man had any sons,” Devil said.

“Nephew,” the earl replied. “Well, great-nephew. To be perfectly frank, I was rather surprised by it, as well. Apparently ‘the old man’ and my own grandfather bad been estranged for some time.”

“I see. I hear Yorkshire in your voice,” Devil observed.

“True enough. I was raised in Copley. My grandfather owned a small coal company there. While I have not been in society for very long, Lord Deveril, I do understand how all of this will look. I’m fully prepared to do the only honorable thing that I can and offer for Miss Ashton’s hand.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Devil said stiffly.

Marina’s stomach dropped to her toes, and she looked to Willa in a panic. All her protestations of not wanting to be married had apparently taken root in her uncle’s mind. But the situation was quite different now, both for the very obvious reason of impending ruination but also because Stanford Williams had returned and would only have done so with a purpose in mind. And until she knew what that purpose was, she had to assume he posed a threat—whether to her life or merely the tattered remnants of her good name was a mystery.

Immediately, her aunt stepped forward and addressed the earl. “My lord, if you would be so kind as to wait in the corridor for just a moment while my husband and I discuss Marina’s options with her?”

The earl sketched a neat bow and quickly exited the room, closing the door softly behind him. Marina turned to her uncle. “I have to marry him. I have to, at the very least, be betrothed to him or I will be utterly ruined.”

“You will never marry where you do not wish to,” Devil insisted doggedly. “I made that promise to myself when you were very young. And I kept it when you collapsed in that church the day you would have married Stanford. I would not see you bullied and browbeaten by a man who did not deserve you nor would I turn down a man’s request based on station or fortune. My only concern, Marina, was that you marry for love. This man is a stranger to you.”

“If I do not accept his proposal—assuming he was offering sincerely—I will never have the option to marry at all,” she insisted. “It is my third Season, uncle. Third. I’ve jilted one betrothed at the altar after I had already refused some of the most eligible men of the ton . So many in fact that now no other offers will be forthcoming… well, not any worth considering.” Taking a pause and inhaling deeply, she uttered the admission that would likely change his opinion greatly. “With Stanford once more moving freely in society, all those hideous things he said—”

Devil’s frown deepened, his jaw hardening. “Did he say something to you?”

Marina shook her head. “No. Not directly. He doesn’t need to speak to me directly. He only needs to be present, and every unpleasant word ever uttered by him will be resurrected and bandied about. His presence here was no coincidence.”

Willa’s frown deepened. “Do you really believe that he’s here plotting against you?”

Marina nodded. “I do believe that. He’s here for revenge… Whatever form it may take.”

“If you told us why—” Willa began.

“I cannot!” Marina insisted. “I simply cannot. Suffice to say my reasons were and are very good. He is not the man I once thought him to be, and he is not to be trusted. Perhaps, being betrothed to someone else will help to shield me from whatever schemes may be afoot.”

“I realize it’s not ideal, but you do have another option, Marina,” Willa offered gently. “If the situation were explained to Mr. Nutter, with only the tiniest deception about your reasons for ducking into this room, of course—perhaps that it was Miss Whitmore, you hoped to avoid?—I’m certain his pride would eventually recover and he might make that offer. He is at least known to you.”

A shudder rippled through her. She couldn’t say precisely what it was about Mr. Nutter that was so terribly off-putting for her. Yes, he was boring. But many gentlemen were and none of them incited such a sense of dread in her. “I’d rather die a lonely spinster. Or live in disgrace as a social outcast. I cannot marry him,” Marina insisted.

“You cannot marry a stranger,” Devil insisted, his tone uncharacteristically firm. It was clear from that how distressing he found the situation.

Marina nodded. “You are right… I cannot. But I can accept his proposal and get to know him. As our wedding date draws near, should we determine that we will not suit one another, then we shall call off the engagement—quietly, of course. Perhaps by then other gossip will have taken center stage and this foible will be forgotten entirely.” It didn’t bear mentioning that crying off once more would leave her utterly ruined, just as well, though perhaps not quite as disgraced.

“I don’t like it,” her uncle reiterated, but it was clear from his tone he was starting to come round.

Willa put her hand on his arm. “It’s a reasonable solution… the only one with even the slightest hope of an acceptable outcome.”

With her aunt on her side, Marina knew it was an argument they could win. “It is the only solution, uncle. Really. The only one.”

“It is the best option, Douglas. It may be one we dislike, but it’s the only one that allows any possibility for Marina’s future happiness… and as she said, a betrothal does not necessarily mean marriage. It can still be called off.”

“We know nothing of him,” he said. “He was clearly in here for a tryst with Lady Crowden—”

“I don’t think that’s what it was,” Marina interjected, hoping to alleviate his concerns. She also prayed that she was correct. Despite her earlier suspicions, upon reflection it had appeared as though he had been somewhat annoyed by Lady Crowden’s dramatics. She’d certainly been annoyed with him if her shrieking had been any indication. “They seemed to be quite at odds. I do believe, based on the small bit I overheard, that Lady Crowden may have been under a mistaken impression about the earl’s intentions or interest in her.”

“That’s a point in his favor, at least,” Devil muttered. “Can’t stand the woman myself.”

On that point, Marina and her uncle were in complete agreement.

“Let me get the earl for you, dearest,” Willa said. “We will sort all of this out. I promise.”

That was likely a promise her aunt would be unable to keep, despite the very best of intentions.

*

Marina waited in the small library, Devil and Willa just outside. The Earl of St. Aiden, whose given name she now could not recall for the life of her, had just entered. He closed the door partially, leaving it ajar by a matter of inches. Enough that it would offer privacy but still maintain propriety. Though in truth, that was a bit like shouting “fire” when only ash remained.

“Miss Ashton,” he said, entering the room, “I’d like to begin with an apology. Through no fault of your own, you now find yourself in quite an untenable situation. But it need not be a disastrous one.”

Marina took a moment to study him. The room was no longer dimly lit. Her uncle had taken it upon himself to light every taper and lamp in the room. In the ballroom, she’d thought him handsome in a rugged fashion. But his face was far more than simply symmetrically pleasing with masculine proportions. It was interesting. His skin was bronzed, slight crinkles appearing at the corner of his eyes. A small scar marked his left eyebrow, slashing through it in a thin line. Now, having a chance to see him fully, without feeling compelled to quickly avert her gaze lest she give someone the wrong idea, she could examine the rugged bone structure that she found so terribly appealing. He might have been carved from granite. Marble would not do for a man such as he.

The Earl of St. Aiden. At least, she thought, if she had to be betrothed to a man, it would be one who intrigued her. With a shock of thick wavy hair that would likely change shades with the season, darker in winter and tending to blond in the summer months, he did not look at all like most of the gentlemen of her acquaintance. There was nothing soft about him. He didn’t appear pampered and primped. There was no elaborate hairstyle, no bizarre arrangement of facial hair. He was clean shaven. But then a man with his chiseled jawline and squared chin had no need to hide behind whiskers.

Recognizing that she had been silent for too long, she cleared her throat and addressed his statement. “And is it your fault, my lord? You did not lure me to this room, nor did you arrange for Miss Whitmore and Mr. Nutter to discover us here. I can state with complete certainty that you did not instruct Lady Crowden to fabricate her Banbury tale about our actions. I fear it is my own enmity with certain individuals which has brought us to this juncture.”

He inclined his head with a soft chuckle. “No. Let neither of us take responsibility for the sins of others, then. Indeed, I should think had I instructed Lady Crowden to do anything, she might have done the opposite for naught but spite.”

That rather dry quip prompted a snort of laughter which promptly disintegrated into a peal of giggles. Given the gravity of their current situation, neither of those responses was appropriate. “I am sorry,” Marina said. “I should not laugh. I fear it’s a nervous habit.”

“Better laughter than tears,” he said.

Sobering, Marina said, “I had thought the situation with you and Lady Crowden to be a misunderstanding on her part. Given her rather emphatic response, I hope that I have not misread the situation… perhaps I am wrong, and your romantic interests do lie elsewhere? With Lady Crowden, even. And now you will have no chance to pursue her.”

“I had no romantic interest in Lady Crowden. I had too much brandy and she made a grave error in judgment that I now find myself unable to regret,” he admitted.

“That requires a certain amount of explanation, my lord.”

He sighed heavily. “I was attending a fete at Cremorne Pleasure Gardens… and in the name of frivolity had consumed more brandy than was advisable. It was that which prompted my somewhat slow reaction when the lady in question cornered me on a darkened path and claimed a kiss. I did not respond as expeditiously as I could have in that moment and my delay was misinterpreted as interest.

“I will confess to you that my primary reason in dashing Lady Crowden’s hopes in that particular direction, and in fact the very reason I came to London, is that I am in search of a wife. In a roundabout fashion, I suppose she may have done me a favor. Presuming, of course, that you are inclined to accept a proposal from a man you do not know from Adam.”

She had once accepted a proposal from a man she thought she knew very well. In that instance, she could not have been more wrong. At least in knowing he was a stranger she would not let her guard down. But the bit of humor she heard in his voice, the dry delivery of his last observation, gave her hope. Not for the love match she thought she would have had with Stanford, but perhaps for future contentment. Of all her options—spinsterhood, ruin, Mr. Nutter, victim to Stanford’s latest scheme, or bride to a total stranger—the latter was the most palatable. Which certainly said something about just how dire her situation truly was.

Reflecting on it, she realized her one true complaint with Mr. Nutter, aside from the fact that she felt absolutely nothing beyond dread when forced to bear his company, was that he droned endlessly. There was no inflection, no humor, no emotion of any kind in his speech. It was like listening to someone read aloud when they had no interest at all in the subject matter. It was all so horribly monotonous. Still, Marina did not wish to be dishonest, and he certainly deserved to know that, despite her dowry, she would not be considered an excellent match for a gentleman with such an exalted title. “I fear you may not feel as though she has done you a great service when you learn of the scandal—scandals—attached to my name. My parents were never married… oh, they had a ceremony as I understand it, but it was a sham of one. My mother died, disgraced and disowned, in a hovel in one of the worst areas of London. I have been very blessed that my Uncle Devil and my Aunt Willa have sheltered me from the more cruel aspects of that gossip, but even they could not keep all of it from my ears… And, for my own part, I have been labeled as a bit fickle. And a jilt.”

“A jilt?”

She sighed. “Yes. I was betrothed at the end of my first Season but when it came time to marry… well, things had changed rather dramatically. I could not go through with the wedding.”

“Why choosing not to marry someone when feeling the union would be destined for unhappiness should mark you as scandalous, I cannot fathom. There is much about society that I am still learning, and I confess to disliking a great deal of it.”

Marina felt a wave of relief at his very reasonable response to that. But still, given his admission of his newness to the ton , she had to warn him. “Were we to embark upon an engagement, the gossips would be most unkind, especially as my former betrothed has recently returned to town.”

He nodded and was quiet for a moment. “And do you wish to reconcile with your former betrothed?”

“Oh, heavens no. I don’t want that at all, and even if I did, there are other factors to consider.”

When he spoke again, he did so with certainty. “I can only tell you that such things as gossip and scandal matter not at all to me, but only time will prove that to be true.”

She blinked in surprise at his complete dismissal of what, in many cases, would have rendered her completely ineligible. In truth, she’d never once anticipated that, given the status of her birth, she’d marry a titled gentleman. Her expectations had never taken her much beyond mere misters. “Not at all? My lord, I do not think you are grasping the ramifications of this. Not that I mean to dissuade you, but I do not wish you to feel that I have been deceptive by omission. With this scandal, in addition to my already questionable reputation, you could well be ostracized.”

He nodded. “I am fully prepared for that, Miss Ashton. Quite frankly, with what I’ve experienced of London society so far, not to be shunned by them might be more of a punishment.”

Marina gaped at him. “You cannot mean that, surely! You’ve traveled very far to partake of society here. I should hope not every aspect of it has been so terribly disheartening.”

He shook his head. “I was not after society, Miss Ashton. I came to London to find a bride… and in the interest of being fully honest, I will tell you there are financial considerations for me. I have no interest in your fortune, but I must marry in order to receive the full inheritance of my uncle’s estates and wealth. His requirements were simple—a society miss from London. A woman with connections to the aristocracy. As for whatever scandals may be attached to your name, those were never addressed in his will and are… well, they are unimportant to me.”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

The earl shrugged. “I never met the man, so I cannot say with certainty.”

“I cannot imagine that he would be pleased with the current circumstance we find ourselves in,” she mused.

His expression shifted, transforming into something that was quite inscrutable. While she had no notion of what he was thinking, his gaze was very focused upon her as he replied, “Well, he’s not here and we cannot ask him, Miss Ashton… You are not alone in having what others would view as a shameful secret. I, too, bear the scorn of those illustrious guests gathered in the ballroom.”

“Whatever for?”

He shrugged, “I did not grow up in this world. Being in society such as this was never something that I imagined would happen in my life, nor is it something I ever aspired to. My grandfather was quite scandalous, you see… marrying against his family’s wishes and dabbling not only in trade but dirtying his hands in an industry that is both necessary and despised. Coal fields, Miss Ashton, are harsh, often ugly, and, while they may be deserving of the disdain, I feel at home there.”

“But you do not speak of them with disdain,” Marina pointed out. In fact, if she’d been hard pressed to decipher his feelings on the matter, she would say he was proud.

“Indeed. I like an honest day’s work, no matter how dirty it might be.” He gestured in the general direction of the ballroom. “They’d rather I had lived in constant debauchery, dueling my way across the continent than to lift a spade and dig alongside those who work for me.”

His reply sparked something in her beyond just attraction or curiosity. It sparked admiration, but also commiseration. “So you are a bit of an outcast, also.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, but it was dry, expressing a wry sort of humor. “Indeed, Miss Ashton. I’ve worked most of my life. Not in some clerical capacity which would be moderately acceptable, but getting my hands dirty. I’ve dug for coal and hauled sacks of it shoulder to shoulder with the men my grandfather employed. And I am, much to the consternation of most people in this elevated sphere, not at all embarrassed or ashamed… Just as I am unashamed of now possessing a title. I am who I am regardless of my social standing… I would likely have refused the inheritance but even in doing so, I would not have been able to escape the obligations to the taxman. Death taxes, Miss Ashton, are the very devil. I’m beginning to have a far greater understanding of what prompted the Americans to revolt.”

Marina felt her smile growing, spreading. It wasn’t simply that he amused her with his rebellion against the rules of society. His answers, and his rebellious nature, were not flaws. Not in her eyes, at any rate. It set him apart from others. It marked him as a man who would see her worth as a person and not simply the dollar signs of her dowry nor the sins of her parents. In short, his reply had given her hope. “Pharisees, my lord. We are surrounded by them. Many reap the benefits of others’ hard work while holding themselves superiorly above it… in both society and in government.”

“Indeed, we are. I would offer you a proposal of marriage, Miss Ashton. I can get down on one knee and play the part of a devoted swain, but I think neither of us is one for putting on a front. Instead, I should like to speak with your uncle at length regarding the sort of arrangements we can make to ensure your future. We will announce our betrothal and spend the next few weeks getting to know one another to discern whether or not we truly wish to wed… If that is amenable to you?”

“It is amenable, my lord. I said much the same to my uncle, my lord.”

“Caleb,” he corrected her. “My name is Caleb Halliwell. I fear I have not become entirely accustomed to hearing ‘my lord’ and assuming it is directed at me.”

“I suppose, as we are supposed to be a betrothed couple, given names would be more convincing, wouldn’t they? You must call me Marina… Caleb.”

“I will call on you tomorrow morning, Marina. For now, perhaps we should consider taking our leave from the Crowdens’ ball before the gossip is spread far and wide.”

She sighed. “The gossip is already far and wide. It does not take any time at all for such news to spread. But yes, I think leaving is for the best. I haven’t the courage to face the stares and whispers in the ballroom.”

*

Caleb watched her exit the room first. Her composure, her forthrightness—those things spoke well of her. And boded well for him. The last thing he wanted was to find himself married to a woman like Lady Crowden who screamed and harangued with little or no ability to hear reason.

He hung back for just a moment, allowing her a chance to speak privately with her relations once more and to make what he could only hope, for her benefit, would be a discreet exit. It dawned on him, as she departed in their company, that there was no one for him to speak to. His life was drearily solitary at present. Every invitation had been issued solely on the fact that he was a titled bachelor. There wasn’t a soul in all of London who knew him—save for Jacob and lately that had been called into question—who cared for him. It wasn’t self-pity, but simply an acknowledgment. If he intended to make a life for himself here, then it was on him to build those connections. And the first one would be with Miss Marina Ashton. Half the battle was won, after all. She’d given him a tentative yes.

When a suitable amount of time had passed, Caleb left the library and headed for the entryway of the Crowdens’ home. He avoided making eye contact with anyone along the way and simply ignored the curious stares and whispers. He’d spent less than a month amongst the upper-class society of London. He didn’t hold them in disdain, but he did accept that his point of view, his values, would always be somewhat divergent from theirs.

“My lord?”

“I need my coat and my carriage,” he instructed the butler. For a moment, he thought about sending word to Jacob about his departure but decided against it. No doubt the gossip had reached his friend already.

With a nod, the servant stepped away to see to the task. As Caleb waited, he felt the prickling sensation of unease, of being watched. Glancing behind him, he could just see the edges of the ballroom through the wide doors. Within that frame, he could clearly see Lady Crowden glaring daggers at him. Just past her was the scheming Miss Whitmore. And yet, even making eye contact with the pair of them, and having both of them look away, that feeling persisted.

Dismissing it as nothing more than the lingering stress of the evening, Caleb accepted his coat and hat from the returning servant and then exited the home. As he headed for his carriage, he was unaware of Mr. Roger Nutter stepping from behind a potted palm, his face set like a stony mask, revealing nothing. But no man watched from the shadows without wicked intent. Not even the boring ones.