Page 51 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)
TEN YEARS LATER
“ Y esterday, I saw my cousin marry, and I thought to myself, well done, old girl, you are officially on the shelf,” Lady Victoria Rothwell, the daughter of Marquess Templeton, added a dash of milk to her tea and laughed.
“You’re only four-and-twenty!” Evelina gawked at her friend.
“In the ton, that makes me a spinster.” Victoria lifted a slender shoulder. “It matters not, my dear. I am quite comfortable being a spinster.”
“You could have married any of the last seasons,” Ellie giggled. “I am sure every bachelor was tripping over their heels to marry the Diamond of the First Water.”
Tucking a strand of her silver-blonde hair behind an ear of classically sculpted features, Victoria’s beauty drew lords from all over the continent and even overseas.
Despite the early hour —and Victoria’s propensity to read through all hours of the night— no shadows rested under her eyes; her skin glowed with the health of the well-rested.
“They were.” Victoria rolled her dark blue eyes.
“But some of them were just a touch too eager. They claim to love the arts, but when I ask the simplest question on the Bard, they splutter and stutter with excuses. How difficult is it truly to know the origin of the quote, ‘ love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues, pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues’ ?”
Picking up a blackberry tart, Evelina shook her head, “I don’t think men read The Merry Wives of Windsor. ”
“They should,” Victoria shrugged.
“Your brother doesn’t even know that, no matter how many operas you drag him to.”
“My brother is a troglodyte.”
Laughing, Ellie asked, “Where is dear Benedict this evening?”
“I have no idea,” Victoria shrugged. “My best guess is that he is at the horse track. But we are not here to talk about him. We’re here to talk about you. How are you on the husband-seeking front, Ellie?”
Dusting her finger off, Ellie sighed, “Aunt and Uncle have still banned me from courting for fear that the suitor will learn I have no dowry to offer his family. I am still Harriet’s companion at balls, and while she is allowed to court, I am not. I suppose that is the downside of being an orphan.”
Disheartened, Victoria flattened her lips. “Do they not believe you want to marry for love? How can you find your votre ame s?ur if you are not allowed to court?”
“Aunt and Uncle had an arranged marriage,” Ellie replied. “They do not believe in soulmates or love. Their idea of a companionship is debating the merits of roasted pheasant over duck.”
“Sounds more delightful than these men and their blasé flirting,” Victoria replied. “It is still horrible, though. No one deserves to be trapped in a marriage of convenience.”
The afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, warming the solarium. Fresh flowers sprouted from vases, and watered ivory silk flowed over the walls. Through the large double doors, the scent of azaleas, tulips, and the cultivated wildflowers in the garden below wafted in.
“It is,” Ellie replied, her face falling with sadness. “I do not want to be sold off or traded as if I am a fattened calf to the butcher, but until I get to the age of majority, I have little say in what I can do.”
“Oh yes, yes, about that,” Victoria’s eyes went bright with excitement. “Your twenty-first birthday is in a week and two days. What shall we do for such a wonderful milestone? Shall we throw a ball, or take a trip to Vauxhall, or—or use my father’s yacht to take a trip to America—”
“What?” Ellie’s mouth dropped. “No, goodness no, Victoria! We cannot do any of those.”
“Why not?” Victoria pouted. “I have always wanted to see New York.”
“I know, but I doubt we’ll see New York in a day,” Ellie replied. “Though I do thank you for the thought.”
Shaking her head, Victoria commiserated, “It is a pity that you shan’t know what it is to feel your heartbeat pound out of your chest, to feel your skin prickle with awareness and your head feel so light.”
“It sounds like you are describing a catalepsy,” Ellie’s lips twitched. “I would rather avoid that, thank you. But you are a bit mistaken, I did feel love once. It was calf-love, I suppose, but I did feel it.”
“Where did he go, by the by?” Victoria asked. “I know you said one day he was with you, and then when your uncle found you, he vanished.”
Shaking her head, Ellie corrected her, “ We vanished. Uncle moved us from St John’s Wood to Grosvenor Square, and we never set foot in that part of the countryside again.
“When I asked around, covertly, of course, no one had ever heard of or seen the boy I’d described to them. Ash was gone, too. I think Uncle made sure he was sent away. No, no, I am sure Uncle sent him away.”
Shifting the plates on the table, her friend tutted. “Such a shame. Do you think you would have been the love of his life if you had been allowed to stay?”
“Maybe,” Evelina replied. “But then, how long do first loves last? There are times I do think it was best that we were separated, but at other times, I mourn the fact that the opportunity to find out was stolen from me.”
Reaching over the small round tea table, Victoria held Ellie’s hand tightly. “I, too, wish you had.”
“Thank you.”
“Now,” Victoria’s lips pursed, “Back to the conundrum of what we shall do for your birthday. How does a trip to the pools of Bath sound?”
Stepping into the fore room of her uncle’s townhome, Evelina wanted nothing more than a hot cup of tea and to retire to her bed with the latest book from Temple of the Muses in hand.
“Miss,” Mr Radcliffe, the butler, bowed as she stepped into the room, “Your honored aunt and uncle requested to see you in the drawing room.”
Frowning, Evelina undid her coat. “Why?”
“I would not know, Miss,” he said candidly. “I am only told to make you aware that they need to see you as soon as you arrive. The only caveat I am told to give you is that, if you need to change your clothes, you may do so.”
A twist of frustration curled in her chest; what was this about?
It is probably something to do with Harriet , she grimaced inwardly. Maybe they want me to wear a plainer dress this season so the attention will be solely on her.
“Thank you, Radcliffe,” Evelina replied.
After inspecting her attire, an olive-green walking dress with minimal ornamentation and puff sleeves, she decided it was presentable enough for her difficult-to-please relatives, so she took off up the stairs—but it was only when Radcliffe twisted the handle to the drawing room, a dormant thought sparked in her mind.
Why did they specifically request I change clothes in the first place?
“Lord Carrington, Mr. and Mrs. Langford, Miss Frampton has arrived,” Radcliffe bowed.
Lord Carrington? Who in heavens is that?
Her uncle stood, as did the other gentleman, an older gentleman, perhaps a few years under her uncle’s forty-eight years. Instantly, she recoiled.
It wasn’t only Lord Carrington’s bleached wheat shade of hair, or his cutting icy blue eyes, nor was it the cruel, arrogant curve of his mouth that reminded her of a woodcut of a Greek Demogorgon.
His ink-black jacket and grey trousers were exquisitely tailored, and above his silver-grey waistcoat, his cravat held a perfect knot. He looked like a proper gentleman, but there was something… something serpentine about him.
She curtsied and angled her head low. “My lord.”
Carrington looked to her uncle, “She is as pretty as you said she was.”
Pardon ?
The mysterious gentleman resumed his seat, but she didn’t miss the glance he sent her way or the smirk on his face.
What business does he have with our family?
Her uncle beamed, and he motioned for her to sit. She complied with a soft, nervous smile.
“Evelina, dear,” her uncle Patrick began, “I have arranged a marriage for you to Lord Carrington.” He paused, clearing his throat, almost as if expecting her to fall over and kiss his feet in thanks.
“The arrangements have already been made, and the date is set for a week and a day from now. It is my hope that you will find happiness with this union.”
Evelina’s jaw fell slack. Her skin burned with humiliation.
“B-but Uncle. Marry ? I—I have never met his lordship…” she tried for a smile. But behind her calm facade, Ellie’s breath came in short, shallow gasps, and her fingers gripped her skirts. Her gaze flitted to the gentleman before her, before returning to her uncle.
“Now, I am certain you have questions, dear, but it is already decided. I shall answer everything else in time. Your Aunt and I have already considered this matter significantly, and have decided a stable, arranged marriage is far more favorable to an ill-fated love match,” her uncle said matter-of-factly.
“But uncle—” her eyes flew to her aunt, who sat placidly beside the men. “I am going to have my birthday the very next day.”
“Your… aunt and I would rather you marry before you turn one-and-twenty,” Patrick said diffidently.
“I know you admire your friend who is a self-proclaimed Original , and who is swanning to an inglorious life on the shelf, but we do not want that for you. It comes with an underlying sheen of shame that follows you everywhere.”
She could barely control her erratic breathing as she was hit with swift and piercing statements, one after the other.
How can you say it is ill-fated if you have never experienced a love match?
The words bubbled up her throat, but she could not utter a breath of them as years of ingrained propriety halted them from leaving her lips.
The thin strain of hope she had to somehow find love in the ton—or even outside of it—by attending balls, walking into a teahouse, or strolling through Hyde Park, shattered with finality.
“Mr. Langford,” Lord Carrington began, “Would you and your wife permit me to have a moment alone with Miss Evelina? Leave a maid here in your stead.”
Her uncle shared a look with his wife; the middle-aged, plump woman with braided gray hair pursed her lips before she nodded and pressed her hand to the large opal brooch pinned to her fichu. “I suppose we can allow that.”
While her uncle stayed put, her aunt left to find a maid, and soon enough, a maid, clad in her dark grey uniform, curtsied. “My lord, and Miss Evelina, my name is Tess. I am honored to sit in with you today.”
“Sit at the back and remain quiet,” Sterling ordered her.
With that, Ellie’s uncle and aunt walked out of the drawing room, leaving the two of them alone once more. A heavy silence hung in the air between them before Sterling eventually spoke.
“I know you must be stunned by this revelation, but dear, marriages of the ton are not for love, they are for upward mobility,” he began.
“My family is gentry ,” she corrected him. “And you must know that I am an orphan. The only upward mobility here is you pulling my family into the ton by our marriage. Marrying into the gentry. Why?”
He crossed his legs, “My father fell in love with my mother before I was born, but that affection soon turned to hate. They fought daily, their arguments often turning violent. My mother was a young woman of rank and fortune, which made her too headstrong for her own good. I would prefer not to have a repeat of that.”
Evelina swallowed. “Why have you not married earlier? You seem to be a gentleman of wealth, in your… middle years, why haven’t you already taken a wife?”
“I was too busy building my fortune,” he waved a cavalier hand. “When I was younger, I was expected to marry a young lady of rank, fortune, with respectable connections, but I decided to focus on something more important. Now that I am older, it has become a necessity rather than a choice.”
He does not want a wife; he wants an ornament on his arm.
“What sort of wife do you desire?” she asked.
“I was going to say conventional . But you are anything but, aren’t you?
” He folded his arms. “I do apologize for this sudden change, but I aim to make it up to you. You will have a generous monthly allowance, enough to purchase all the jewels, French bonbons, books, or furs a lady could want. Even a phaeton, if you would like. A yacht, perhaps.”
Her brow lowered. “I don’t want those things.”
His tone was light. “You’ll have whatever you desire to impress your friends, a summer home on the coast, or yearly trips to America. In trade, I’ll use my social cache to bring your relatives into the le bon ton , polish them up and present them to proper society.”
“How do you do that?” her words blurted themselves out.
“Do what?” His left brow lifted.
“Be so sincerely insincere .”
He threw his head back and laughed, but the humored tone did nothing to settle her frizzing nerves.
“It is a gift of mine—you can say it’s instinctive,” Carrington replied, his lips twitching. “You’ll catch on quickly.”
Ellie felt sickened. She had been traded to afford her family a better life. Was this the reason her aunt had insisted on all those lessons? To use her as a tool to curry favor with the ton. After all, she was an orphan living off their good graces.
Still—to rob me of the chance to find love is beyond cruel.
“All these gifts… in exchange for what?” Evelina asked carefully.
Lord Carrington leaned in, and his smirk sent cold shivers down her spine. “You’ll see.”
“Does my uncle owe you money?” She asked.
“No.”
“Are you in a position to ruin his business?”
“I am, but no, it is not that.”
“I will not accept this marriage then,” she said flatly.
His eyes glinted with ominous cruelty, and his words echoed the same sentiment. “You may decline, but your uncle will simply find someone else to claim your hand, someone who is not as lenient or allowing as I am, if you indeed believe marriage to me is that unpleasant a prospect.”
“What—or who is worse than an ostentatious rake?” she asked directly.
His eyes trailed over her with a slow passage that made Ellie want to scrub her body with a horse brush and lye. “You do not want to know. Now, you would do best not to displease your relatives.” He turned to the maid. “Go and fetch the uncle.”
Ellie felt her throat tighten as her relatives reentered the room; she could feel her aunt’s expectant look piercing into the side of her neck. Carrington stood, his smile now charming and sincere.
“Miss Evelina and I have come to an accord,” he began. “The marriage will go forward in a week and a day.”