Chapter Three
Everett took one last look at Whitney Crewe standing on the steps of the Twilit estate, and then entered the carriage with a shake of his head. He was glad to be going. Glad she was going away, too. Eccentric wasn’t a good enough description for the woman he’d almost made love to one mad evening.
He sat beside Mr. Thompson in the carriage as the women began to chatter amongst themselves.
“Did you ever hear of such nonsense,” Mrs. Quartermane burst out as soon as Lord Taverham’s home fell behind. “Traveling abroad at her age and jesting that she’d engaged a man to carry her bags when she should be engaged to marry instead. Mark my words, Miss Crewe will come to a bad end.”
“I’m sure Lord Louth will have taken steps to keep her out of trouble. Despite what she suggested tonight, he’ll insist on a proper chaperone or put a stop to it entirely. I’ve no doubt about that,” Everett promised, with the hope the discussion was over.
“It’s high time she married,” Mrs. Quartermane continued, receiving a nod of agreement from her rather quiet husband. “Good lord she’s almost thirty.”
“Five and twenty, mama,” Alice chided.
“Well that is even better,” Mrs. Quartermane claimed. “There must be some man we know who can bring her to heel.”
Her eyes fell on Thompson and lingered there, assessing him.
Everett shifted on the bench. Thompson did not deserve a woman like Whitney Crewe. It wasn’t that Thompson wasn’t good enough to marry her, but that Thompson surely didn’t need the aggravation. Whitney was trouble, and Thompson had more than enough of that in his life already. Disowned by his father, at odds with his siblings, too. Thompson was a good man who’d run afoul of propriety too many times for his family to ever forgive him.
Since making Whitney Crewe’s proper acquaintance, Everett had been in a constant state of shock at the way she carried on in society. She had no intention of marrying anyone, or so her cousin had once complained within his hearing, and no consideration for moderation or decorum, either.
“Despite her age and disinclination to be courted, she’s never lacked for admirers in London,” Alice murmured. “She’s friends with everyone, even the Duke of Exeter asks her to dance.”
“Whitney charms every man she meets,” he said grimly, growing hot under the collar. He’d seen her laughing with the duke, a man twice her age but perhaps not quite twice as wealthy.
Learning he’d almost been seduced by an heiress had been another shock. Where had her cousin been the night of the Fairmont Ball? A chaperone? Whitney Crewe’s fortune was said to rival his betrothed’s dowry, and more besides. Whitney could easily become a target of unscrupulous fortune hunters if she was not wary—the very thing he’d been accused of being.
“Indeed, she does charm without trying,” Thompson murmured with a humorous smile his way. “I found her lack of affectation utterly delightful and her age is unimportant.”
“I’m very glad I met my Acton before Whitney had a chance to turn his head,” Alice exclaimed, laughing.
Everett nearly choked. His head had been turned, upside down and back to front and all in one wild night, and it was before he’d met Alice, too. It was only Whitney’s high principles that had prevented them from becoming lovers, for which he was now profoundly grateful. At the time, he’d been furious to be so teased and discarded. “Why do you imagine she could?”
“My daughter is merely teasing you,” Mrs. Quartermane said, but cast a warning look at her daughter before she spoke again. “We know your heart is pure, and Alice adores you for your gallantry in allowing her to enjoy the season. Besides, you’re much too distinguished to ever fall prey to an eccentric.”
Clearly his bride’s family didn’t know him that well. His gallantry was because of Whitney’s parting words the night of the Fairmont Ball. After meeting Alice, he’d allowed the date for their marriage to slide toward the end of the season so that she might enjoy the parties and entertainments of London more freely.
That the Quartermanes were not entirely enamored of Miss Crewe’s attitudes toward matrimony, even if they had been much together in London, no longer surprised him. Perhaps they thought they could reform Whitney by keeping her close. Everett doubted that was possible, and Alice’s remark made him wonder how many other men had made it into Whitney’s bed?
“Well, she is very pretty and generous to all,” Alice murmured, glancing down at her fingers. “Everyone looks at her and remarks upon what she does and says.”
Everett regarded his rather timid intended with a kind smile. Alice was beautiful, but pale where Whitney Crewe was vibrant. The pair of women had nothing in common on first glance, and he liked it that way. “There is no need to make any comparison. You are lovely, sweet and kind. You are the woman who will be my wife and countess.”
Alice beamed, a blush rising up her cheeks. “I am, aren’t I,” she stated proudly.
“Well said, Acton. Well said, indeed,” Thompson said approvingly. “It never does to compare one woman after another.”
“She does have a considerable dowry that would make many a man overlook her flaws, especially her age and eccentricities,” Mrs. Quartermane mused, looking closely at Thompson again. She tapped her husband’s knee, waking the fellow from a doze. “What do you think, Mr. Quartermane? Is there anyone you know in need of a wife?”
Mr. Quartermane looked out the window. “I wouldn’t care to speculate, Mrs. Quartermane.”
Mrs. Quartermane tapped his hand again. “But don’t you think the right man could turn Miss Crewe’s head from this nonsense of traveling alone?” Mrs. Quartermane continued to pester her husband about it, and Everett tuned out the conversation.
If Whitney Crewe had ever wanted to be a proper lady, she had had ample examples of how to behave among her cousin’s circle of friends.
If she’d been a proper lady, he’d never have met her twirling barefoot upon the grass of Lord Fairmont’s estate.
He’d never have been seduced by her, lured to a quiet room and convinced to strip off his clothes for her pleasure. The heat in her eyes that night had produced many an erotic dream since.
He closed his eyes a moment and worked to banish the memory of Whitney Crewe that night.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Quartermane murmured.
Everett jerked his head up as the carriage came to a stop, heartily ashamed that he’d spent nearly the entire journey lost in his thoughts about a woman he disliked.
Whitney Crewe was trouble. She made Everett forget he should only be thinking of his future wife.
He scooted out of the carriage before Mr. Quartermane and Thompson with the intention of being the one to assist his intended bride down the steps.
Alice was perfect for him. She’d never behave the way Whitney Crewe had, or would likely do in the future.
He aided Mrs. Quartermane down and the woman quickly grasped her husband’s waiting arm. “Have you ever seen such a grand home as Twilit Hill, my dears? Why, Twilit Hill is almost as large as a castle.”
“Without the battlements or the dungeon,” Alice murmured for his ears alone. “I much prefer Warstone Manor, my lord.”
He smiled down upon his intended bride. “I’m glad, because I tend to spend much of the year here.”
“Yes, yes. There is no comparing Warstone to Twilit Hill.” Mrs. Quartermane sighed as she looked around the shadowed front gardens.
“The woods can make it gloomy at first,” Thompson remarked.
“It is such a shame that so much of the grounds are hidden from view because of all these trees.”
“The woods are what I love most,” Everett told his future mother-in-law proudly. “My great-grandfather had remarkable foresight to keep them, in my opinion.”
Thompson bid them good night and disappeared inside, his hands shoved in his pockets. Thompson wasn’t much for socializing with his other guests, and Everett doubted he’d see him again that night.
Mr. and Mrs. Quartermane bustled ahead and into the house, calling for Alice to follow. He watched them disappear inside with great excitement because Alice lingered.
At last, a moment alone with his future bride, and under the stars no less.
Alice smiled up at him shyly. “Warstone suits you.”
He grinned. “As in a little weathered and rundown?”
“You are hardly rustic, my lord,” she said but then frowned. “I mean, like the house, you have hidden qualities not easily discovered on first glance.” Alice bounced on the spot as she rubbed her bare arms. “It is a little cold tonight though. Perhaps we could discuss the appeal of your home better when the sun comes out tomorrow?”
He held out his arm for her to take just as her mother’s maid appeared, frowning at them. “Then let us venture inside. What do you say to a game of whist before you retire tonight?”
Alice winced. “I would enjoy a game very much, but I must see my mother to her room. She was complaining of an ache before dinner. I am not sure how long I will be.”
“I am happy to wait until tomorrow night if it is more convenient to play then.” Alice had such a tender heart and fussed over her family. He was looking forward to being the recipient of her attention once they married. But until then, he must be patient. “Of course, you must go and comfort her. Ask my staff for anything you require.”
“I will, and thank you.” She dipped him a curtsy and turned away, leaving Everett longing for some way to bridge the gap between proper decorum and some small degree of desire. He had not kissed Alice yet. There hadn’t been a chance for any romantic interludes because her parents watched him and Alice like hawks or sent servants to shadow them at all times.
He scraped a hand through his hair. He felt he should have at least kissed her long before now, and the longer he left the first kiss, first embrace, the more he worried about it. And yet, wasn’t there plenty of time to get to know each other after marriage? The banns had been called and he’d only have to wait three more weeks till they were man and wife now.
He raked his hand through his hair again. He had no reason to be discontent with his life, no cause to complain that it lacked certain pleasures.
And yet the fact that Whitney Crewe just happened to visit their mutual friends at such a delicate time irritated the hell out of him.
Alice would never have attended a bachelors ball where half the women in attendance were part of the demimonde! How was he to have known Whitney wasn’t one of them? She’d acted so differently that night to how she behaved in polite circles now, even if that was often shocking.
Whitney Crewe had seduced him at the ball, without revealing her real name or asking for his. She’d then fled the moment he’d revealed his intention to marry—albeit someone else—taking his evening breeches away with her!
The ensuing gossip about that night could have threatened his marriage contract with Miss Quartermane, had her father learned of it, too. And when he’d discovered the identity of his almost lover, coming face to face with Whitney at a ball on her huge cousin’s arm, he’d expected to be called out there and then. When no challenge had come, he’d tried to speak with Whitney privately, but had been firmly turned away, not even seen when he had called at her home the next day.
It was a great relief that everyone remained oblivious to their first real meeting. For weeks, he’d feared Whitney would launch some sort of revenge on him. The fact that she’d yet to say one word about their near-tryst bothered him. She’d greeted him with a polite smile at every public encounter, without a single hint she’d merrily taken his cock in her hand—with very clear intentions.
The proof of her lack of innocence was in her behavior that night, and that had slowly lessened his guilt afterward. He’d not been the first lover she’d lured away to a quiet room. He knew the signs of experience in a woman. A woman who had demanded his full attention and returned it threefold until she’d heard something distasteful of him. Whitney Crewe was a woman of unexpected passions. As eccentric as she’d claimed to be from their first encounter—and just as troublesome ever since.
“My lord,” a footman called softly as he came running out of the house, coat flapping behind him like wings. “There’s an urgent message from Rose Cottage.”