Chapter Six
P ippa Marlow, the Dowager Marchioness of Hilt, dug her fingers into her son-in-law's arm as she helped him up the staircase toward his bedchamber.
Gemma held her father's other arm, walking in step beside him.
Pippa sighed dramatically. “This is becoming quite the practiced routine, is it not, my dear? One you and I are becoming far too adept at.”
Gemma gave her a faint smile but did not bother to reply.
Pippa's single greatest regret was that she had not tried harder to prevent her daughter from marrying Mark Caster.
Elizabeth had been young and foolish and convinced she was in love.
Blind to every one of her beloved's flaws.
True, Mark had not been in such a state back then.
His drinking and gambling had not taken such a drastic turn until after Elizabeth's death.
But Pippa had seen glimpses of it all those years ago.
Perhaps if she had forbidden her daughter from marrying the man, Elizabeth might still be alive today.
“Did you hear that?” she said loudly, directly into her son-in-law's ear. “Your daughter and I have had quite enough of this. Next time I've a good mind to leave you upstairs in your own filth.” She snorted. “Or even better, leave you at home. Then we might all have a chance of enjoying ourselves.”
The Earl grunted in response.
Pippa rolled her eyes in disgust. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?” She darted a sideways glance at Gemma.
Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, as though she was doing her best not to get involved.
Gemma was often one to stand up for her father; to be kinder to him than he deserved. Pippa longed to put a stop to it.
I failed my daughter. I will not fail my granddaughters as well.
“Are you listening to this, Gemma?” she demanded. “Do you hear your father's explanation for his disgraceful behavior?” She shook her head. “He clearly has no interest in finding husbands for the three of you.” She snorted. “I doubt he has any interest in anything that is not found in a bottle.”
“All right, Grandmother,” Gemma said wearily. “That is enough. Please.”
Pippa did not reply. Perhaps she had gone a step too far. But Gemma needed to be shaken out of this misplaced loyalty she had toward her father. And as for the search for husbands, well, Pippa had decided some time ago to take matters into her own hands.
And what a challenge that is turning out to be.
Though she dearly loved Gemma, Pippa knew her eldest granddaughter could be difficult. She was far too strong-willed and feisty for a young lady of the ton and filled with far too many liberal, cringeworthy ideas. Pippa knew such traits made most men run a mile.
But not the Duke of Larsen.
What an interesting development that had been.
Pippa had been unable to hold back her laughter at the sight of Gemma and the Duke arguing like children and reciting their poetry to the gathering like priests delivering the most impassioned sermons.
She could tell Gemma regretted the events deeply, and the knowledge of it stung.
No doubt the poor child would be much happier if she let herself go every now and then.
Pippa knew well that Gemma had no desire to marry.
The poor, misguided child. No doubt that was her father's doing—how could Gemma be expected to put her trust in a husband's ability to take care of her when her own father had been unable to do so?
Pippa knew that, somehow, she would have to make Gemma see that not all men were as unreliable and weak as her father.
Gemma shouldered open the Earl's bedroom door and eased him toward the bed. She and Pippa lifted his legs onto the mattress, and Gemma tugged off his shoes.
Pippa took a step back, watching in dismay as Gemma pressed a kiss onto her father's lined pink forehead.
Mark Caster did not deserve such affection from his daughters.
If only he could see the effect his behavior was having on them.
If only he could hear the way Gemma spoke so negatively about marriage.
If only he could see poor Veronica, hiding away in the sitting room, filled with shame over the way he had behaved at the dinner table, and too embarrassed to show her lovely face.
The sooner I can get my granddaughters into lives of their own, the better.
Pippa put a soft hand on Gemma's shoulder as they made their way out of the bedroom.
She knew she needed to broach the subject of marriage with her granddaughter again.
With Gemma just turned two-and-twenty, they were fast running out of time.
Perhaps now, with her father's disgrace at the forefront of her mind, Gemma might be more open than usual to the discussion.
Surely, she could see the necessity of a husband who might dig the family out of poverty.
“Dearest,” she began gently, closing the Earl's bedchamber door behind her, “we need to discuss?—”
“Finding me a husband,” Gemma finished. “Yes, Grandmother. I know.”
Pippa gave her an apologetic smile. She hated that the task seemed like such a chore to Gemma. Why could she not be like other young ladies, and look forward to a life of finding a husband, of raising a family? The moment the thought came to her, Pippa knew the answer.
Gemma is not like other young ladies. It was a fact that filled her with pride and frustration in equal measures.
“I wish you would be a little more open to the idea, my love,” Pippa told her gently.
“I know your father's behavior has weakened your faith in men. But please believe me when I tell you there are many good potential husbands out there. Surely there must be someone in the ton who manages to capture your interest.”
For a moment, Pippa could have sworn she saw something flicker in Gemma's eyes, but her granddaughter merely sighed.
“No, Grandmother. There is not. The men in the ton … all they wish for is a wife who will stay quiet and not speak her mind. I cannot bear the thought of being married to such a man. How can I commit to a life where I am expected to do nothing but sit in the corner and keep my thoughts to myself?”
Pippa thought of the tirade Gemma had launched into last night, hounding the Duke of Larsen about how women ought to have a voice in the election of members of Parliament.
Such outlandish ideas will not serve her well.
Pippa decided to try a different approach.
“What about your sisters? Veronica is out in society now, and it will not be long before Jane is too. With a drunkard for a father and a spinster for an older sister, finding husbands will be near impossible.” She could not hold back the waver in her voice.
Gemma lowered her eyes, stray strands of brown hair falling over her cheeks.
“I know, Grandmother. But if I must marry, then I want it to be to a man who takes an interest in who I am as a person. Not merely in my ability to provide him with an heir. A man with whom I can be myself.” She sighed. “Such a thing feels near impossible.”
Pippa leaned over to kiss her granddaughter's cheek.
“Well, my dear. Perhaps fate may work in your favor, and you may find such a gentleman where you least expect it.” She caught the doubting look in Gemma's eye.
“Go and find Veronica,” said Pippa. “The poor dear was distraught after your father's performance at dinner. I know she would enjoy your company. The last I saw, she was headed for the music room. I think she planned to cheer herself up at the fortepiano.”
Wyatt watched his grandmother's dog roll across the floor of the sunroom, tiny paws flailing. He raised his eyebrows. “This is what was so important that you interrupted my conversation with Miss Henford? Your dog's ability to roll over?”
The Dowager Duchess wrinkled her nose at him. “You might be a little more impressed. I have been trying to teach her that trick for weeks.”
Wyatt raised his eyebrows. “Spectacular. Truly.”
His grandmother whacked him lightly on the arm. “There is no need for that. She has a very small brain. It is quite an achievement for her.”
Wyatt smiled.
“In any case,” the Dowager Duchess sank into an armchair in one corner of the room and tapped a gnarled finger against her chin, “there is something else I wished to speak to you about.”
Wyatt folded his arms. “Let me guess. You are here to convince me to break my betrothal with Miss Henford.”
The Dowager Duchess's eyes sparkled. “You are smarter than you look, boy.”
Wyatt sighed and leaned back against the wall.
He could not deny that since overhearing Miss Henford's conversation, he had been beginning to come around to his grandmother's way of thinking.
But breaking the betrothal was simply not possible.
Not now, so close to the wedding. Besides, he had made it clear to Henrietta that nothing was to change at Larsen Manor.
Hopefully, his words with her had put an end to whatever devious plans she had been hatching.
“Do you not think it's time to let this go, Grandmother?” Wyatt said gently. “Our wedding is in two days' time.”
“Exactly,” the Dowager Duchess said. “You still have two days to change your mind. To make the right decision.”
Wyatt rubbed his eyes. He had to admit, the thought was tempting. “Miss Henford is the wife Mother wishes for me,” he said.
The Dowager Duchess snorted. “And what about what you want? Would you not rather spend your life with a wife whose company you enjoy? A wife who makes you feel something?”
Inexplicably, Wyatt found himself thinking of Lady Gemma. Somehow, she had burrowed her way into his thoughts. Had been trying to force her way to the front of his mind ever since they had awoken in bed together, in such a compromising position.
And then, of course, there was the knowledge that something had clearly drawn him toward Gemma Caster last night too. After all, there were plenty of witnesses to their drunken antics. Plenty of people to attest to the fact that he had spent almost the entire evening in her company.
A poetry-writing contest? I have never done such a thing in my life!
In spite of himself, something gnawed inside him, urging him to uncover exactly what it was about the aloof and distant Lady Gemma that had compelled him to do such a thing.
But this was not about Lady Gemma. This was about Miss Henford. And about convincing his grandmother to let her aversion to their marriage go.
“Grandmother,” he said, as warmly as he could manage, “I appreciate your concern. I truly do. But I have made my decision. And I shan't be changing my mind.”
The Dowager Duchess pressed her lips into a thin white line. “Very well. If that is how you feel. But I?—”
“That is how I feel,” Wyatt interrupted. “And that is the end of the matter.” He bent to ruffle the dog's fur. “I don't suppose you've seen Lord Anderson, have you?” I could really use a drink.
Something flickered behind the Dowager Duchess's sharp gray eyes, and for a moment, Wyatt suspected she was about to carry on arguing. But then she flapped a jeweled hand and said, “Oh yes. I saw the Baron enter the music room a few moments ago.”
Wyatt frowned. “The music room?” He was fairly certain Jonah had never set foot in a music room in his life.
Still, perhaps he had caught the eye of Miss Gardiner, or another young lady at the party, and gone trailing after her like a lovesick puppy.
“Thank you, Grandmother.” He kissed her cheek. “And thank you for your concern.”
Feeling the Dowager Duchess's eyes on him, Wyatt made his way toward the music room at the back of the house.
Maybe a drink or two with Jonah was what he needed.
After all, the day had been nearly unbearable, what with the discovery of Henrietta's true nature, and these infernal thoughts of Lady Gemma that refused to lie down.
With luck, Jonah would have a sorry story or two about the young ladies he had tried and failed with.
Those tales always managed to cheer Wyatt up.
He pushed open the music room door and stepped inside.
Like each room in the Henfords' manor, the space was elaborately decorated and spectacularly ugly; a maze of chandeliers and gold-rimmed portraits, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and windows draped in lush red velvet curtains.
A small fortepiano sat against one wall, dwarfed by the frippery of the rest of the room.
A figure was sitting on the bench of the fortepiano, but it most certainly was not Jonah. And that unmoored sensation inside Wyatt intensified, as he took in the sight of Gemma Caster.
“What are you doing here?”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7 (Reading here)
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
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- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
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- Page 38
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- Page 41
- Page 42
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- Page 47
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- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
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- Page 57