Chapter Six
After following the bickering couple through the park, Charles had returned to his rooms and consumed a goodly amount of the brandy that Cassandra had obtained for him—no doubt pilfered from her ailing husband’s cache. Regardless, there was enough of it in his belly that he no longer felt the burning anger that had overtaken him when looking at Marcus’ smug face.
A glance at the clock and he knew she’d arrive shortly. Her nighttime visits were more sporadic, but every afternoon she came to him. Even at the thought, the door opened.
Heavily veiled and draped in black, she’d have come by hack rather than her gaudy phaeton. It had been a brilliant maneuver on her part. Purchasing such a distinctive vehicle, all she had to do was send her maid out in a veil for a drive and Cassandra herself was free to move about as she wished while the whole of society could attest to “her” whereabouts.
“We might as well hang it up. It’s over, my darling. The prodigal son has returned. I’m just a poor relation, once more, with no prospects and no chance of taking you from this place,” he confessed. “Assuming I don’t hang that is.”
She shushed him. “Stop it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself! Our ultimate goal remains unchanged. Why on earth would you hang? Really, Charles, all this maudlin obsession with your cousin is very tiresome!”
“It’s impossible. Althorn has returned. Their engagement is doomed. She may revile him even more so than she does me,” he complained.
“Charles, we will find a way! I’ve not suffered years with that disgusting old letch only to be left an impoverished widow when he finally dies! Stop this at once!”
Charles looked at her and smiled. She wasn’t as young as when they’d first begun their affair, but she was even more beautiful, if such a thing were possible. The icy blonde perfection of her had always suited him perfectly. It concealed her fiery nature and the very passionate woman beneath.
“I recall when I returned home from the Peninsula and first set eyes on you,” he mused. “I’d never seen a more perfect example of fine English beauty.”
“Only English?” she asked.
He sipped his brandy before answering. “You will always be the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“It was a scandalous and foolish thing to do,” she said. “Embarking on an affair with my nephew-by-marriage. But you were so charming and so utterly wicked. And I think no one else on earth could understand how much I despised Elsingham but you.”
He reached for her hand, tugging her down beside him. “I do hate him. Both he and Marcus can go to the devil!”
“But not before we both get what we desire the most,” she reminded him gently. “We deserve it, Charles, for all that we’ve had to endure.”
He sighed heavily. “He saw me at Corunna,” Charles admitted. “Marcus knows I was there and likely suspects that I was the one who outed him to the French. If he wonders at that, he might begin to wonder what other intelligence I shared with the French. It could be disastrous.”
“It will be fine, my love!” Cassandra insisted. “Have we not managed to carry on a clandestine affair under the nose of your uncle and all of London for nearly five years? From the moment you returned from the war, I knew we were destined for one another. I will not allow this minor setback to change anything!”
The room was spinning for him, so he closed his eyes for just a moment. She was his destiny. Maddening, demanding, by turns cruel and kind, she was a vexing creature but one who incited a passion in him like nothing else. It was she who had taken his idle hatred for his family and sculpted it into their current plan. It was she who had encouraged him to make himself invaluable to his uncle in the hopes of increasing the man’s willingness to have his only son and heir declared legally dead, paving the way for Charles himself to take the title. Her mind was always spinning and whirling, one insidious plan after another to get them what they both craved—freedom to be together and wealth to support them in the lifestyle of their choosing.
“And if he ever discloses that I set those soldiers upon him… that I orchestrated his capture, I’ll be hanged. Do you not see that?” Charles protested.
“Stop being melodramatic. You’re worse than a woman at times, I swear! He will not see you hanged. He wouldn’t allow for such a scandal to taint the family. Now sit up, for goodness’ sake!” She snapped the words off sharply, her tone brooking no argument.
Reluctantly, Charles sat up and attempted to feign composure even if he truly lacked it. “It is all lost,” he repeated for emphasis. Could she truly not see that?
“He may have returned, but that is not as problematic as you make it seem,” she insisted. “We no longer have to go through the turmoil of having him declared dead. They will marry. There is no other option!” She turned to face him more fully, cupping his face in her hands as she looked deeply into his eyes and whispered, “And before they manage to produce an heir, we’ll eliminate them both.”
“She’s refusing him. Quite adamantly. You know that… she’s difficult,” Charles pointed out.
“Then we’ll be certain she’s so hopelessly compromised she’ll have no choice but to wed. This is a gift, my darling, and we will not squander it,” she said reassuringly. “We get all that we wanted without you having to marry the wretch. Can you not see?”
He smiled drunkenly up at her. At times, she was a vicious bitch who made him want to strangle her with his bare hands. At others, she appeared an angel there to save him. “You always know what to do. What ever would I do without you?”
She kissed his brow. “Go upstairs, my darling, and rest. You’ve gotten far too foxed this morning for our afternoon play.”
He lunged for her, dragging her to him and kissing her rather clumsily. “I’m never too foxed for that.”
“You certainly are,” she protested. “I’ll not struggle out of this gown for you to rut on me for two seconds and then pass out! Let go of me.”
He did as she instructed. Charles knew only too well the cost of crossing her. She’d scarred him once already. “Not even a peck and a cuddle, my darling?”
She shook her head firmly. “No. You need to sober up. You’ll be joining the family for dinner tonight. Once I’ve formulated a plan, I’ll be sure it is passed along to you.”
He frowned once more. “I was dismissed this morning… informed that the family was not receiving anyone by no less than Marcus himself.”
“It is my home,” she stated firmly. “And we shall receive whomever I choose. Not to worry, my love. Not to worry at all.”
*
Jane stormed up the stairs as soon as they were home, not even bothering to excuse herself or offer a by your leave. Retreating into the sanctuary of her chambers, any of her guilt or remorse at having painted him a potential imposter for the gossip rags had long since fled. He deserved that and more.
Sarah entered and, upon seeing her mistress’ thunderous expression, offered, “I’ll come back later, miss, when you’re not—that is, when you have had time—I’ll just come back later.”
“He is a complete and utter cad!” Jane said. “I cannot believe the gall of that man!”
Sarah gasped, “Did he take liberties, then?” Oddly enough, the maid sounded more titillated than scandalized.
Jane rolled her eyes. “The very fact that he still breathes is a liberty I would not grant him! Do you have any notion of what he has said to me?”
“Well, no, miss. I don’t,” Sarah said as she began undoing the laces of Jane’s gown. “Was it something very wicked?”
“He said,” Jane began, the words strident and with far more volume than was appropriate, “that he was marrying me for my money. Just admitted it, as if it were the most normal and natural thing in the world! And then had the audacity to be shocked that I was offended!”
“Begging your pardon, miss, but haven’t you always known he was to marry you for the money?” Sarah asked.
Jane whirled on her and snapped, “That is hardly the point. He could have said anything else!”
“Should he have told you that he loved you then?” the maid queried. There was clearly a point to her questions.
Jane scoffed, “Well, of course not! We hardly know one another!”
“That he was overtaken by your beauty and couldn’t help himself and that he had to have you for his own, then?” Sarah continued, her tone both patronizing and maddening.
Jane stamped her foot. “Sarah, you are being utterly ridiculous! Even if he’d offered such drivel, I would not be fool enough to believe him!”
“So he doesn’t know you well enough to love you, you don’t think yourself beautiful enough to have captivated him through such means, and he’s not allowed to want to marry you for money. You’ll forgive me, miss, but you’ve just eliminated the three reasons that all men marry… well, unless they’ve no choice in the matter,” the maid finished smartly.
Furious at the maid’s logic, Jane demanded, “Precisely what are you implying, Sarah?”
“Only that you were ready to refuse him whatever his reasons were. He could have said everything right and done everything right, and it might still be wrong in your eyes because you want it to be.”
There was no denying the truth in that. “Yes! I was. I still am adamant in my refusal. I’ve no wish to be married! It’s not as if I’m being unfair… he doesn’t want to marry me either, not really.”
“You’re awfully set against it when you barely know him.” Sarah helped Jane remove the heavy promenade gown and exchange it for a simpler and lighter weight day dress that was more appropriate for indoor wear.
“Whose side are you on, Sarah?”
The maid pursed her lips. “I’m always on your side, miss. I’ll never work for anyone else as kind to me or as willing to treat me more like a friend than a servant. And it’s because I’m on your side that I’ll say something to you that you won’t like much but is true nonetheless… you’re letting pride rob you of a chance at happiness. Maybe he won’t be a grand husband or the love of your life… but you could have a child that would be. Don’t you want that? To hold your own children in your arms?”
The longing that it incited in her was more than she could bear. Of course, she wanted to have children someday. She wanted to know what it was like to love unselfishly and to be loved as fiercely as she had loved her own mother. “Is that reason enough to marry him?”
The maid’s reply was thoughtful and persuasive. “He’s a handsome man and, by all rights, a kind one… if not kind then far from cruel by what the servants say. Maybe you don’t like what he said, but he didn’t lie to you, and there is something to be said for a man who will at least be honest.”
Jane sank down onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t want to be my mother, Sarah. I don’t want to love a man who is incapable of loving me.”
“With all due respect, miss, it wasn’t your mother he was incapable of loving. It’s everyone. Your father is a cold man… cold and cruel to the bone. That’s not the marquess. And we both know it. Give him a chance, miss. Give yourself one.”
As Sarah left, Jane forced herself to consider what the maid had said rather than simply allowing her knee-jerk reaction to take precedence. It was all temper and pride for her when it came to him. She was constantly reduced to that not quite fourteen-year-old girl who’d had her heart broken by words taken out of context. It was that and, if she were completely honest, the horrible memories of how her father constantly belittled her mother. He’d despised her and made little effort to conceal his disdain. That her father was, if not kind, at least cordial to his new bride was a testament to the woman’s rather shocking beauty but also her vicious nature. Her father actually feared her stepmother or, at the very least, would do whatever was necessary to avoid the unpleasantness of her wrath.
As if her thoughts had summoned the demon herself, there was a knock at the door. The sound and pattern of it were distinctive—three short, sharp raps that sounded impatient and angry.
Rising to her feet, Jane reluctantly opened the door and faced the woman who lived to make her life a misery. “Yes, Mrs. Barrett?”
Her stepmother marched into the room, her stride stiff and angry. “You are purposely trying to sabotage his courtship of you to be an embarrassment to your father and me,” she accused. “You ungrateful, spiteful wretch of a child!”
Jane offered no defense of herself. She had learned that to do so would only lengthen the torment. Instead, she stood there with her hands clasped in front of her and bravely faced the tirade that was to come.
“We have done everything for you. There are few women, Jane, who would tolerate having their husband’s grown daughter remain in their house as a constant reminder of the woman that came before her! That I was so warm and welcoming to you in spite of your rebellious and contentious nature is a testament to my moral fortitude,” the woman continued, oblivious to her own hypocrisy. “The reward for tolerating you was that one day I might have a familial connection to a duke. I don’t need to tell you exactly what sort of elevation that brings socially! Would you really deny us that? Your father, who has sacrificed so much for you? Have I not been kind? Have I not treated you as I would my very own daughter had I been blessed to have one? I have offered you countless hours of advice, applied discipline to correct your weaknesses of character! I have monitored your food consumption to keep you as trim and attractive as you can possibly manage to be given your unfortunate figure! Why, Jane, you should be ashamed of yourself!”
Jane fumed silently, but said nothing. It was far from over and they both well knew it. The next bit would be even more unpleasant.
Mrs. Barrett’s gaze traveled over her from head to toe. “I suppose it’s a good thing we’ll be throwing off our mourning clothes now that he has returned. Naturally, you’ll need a trousseau. Given your love of cakes, the amount of fabric we’ll have to purchase could very well send us into the poorhouse! Do try to control yourself, Jane. You don’t have to eat every morsel put in front of you!”
“I will try to do better,” Jane offered.
“Try! What a useless word that is! You either will or you will not… that you cannot even commit to losing the extra stone you’re carrying is evidence to me that my best efforts to mold your character have failed. Well, the fault does not lie with me, Jane Barrett, for I have done all that I could! Marry this man, Jane. With your dull appearance, sharp tongue, unfortunate penchant for reading and, let us not forget, your too-ample figure, it’s undoubtedly the best offer you’ll ever receive!”
With that parting insult, the woman whirled on her heel and exited Jane’s chamber as if she’d been exiting a grand ballroom. When she was gone, Jane sank onto the bed again, exhausted by the litany of complaints about her once again.
“I ought to marry him, just so I can be a duchess and give that vile creature the cut direct in front of everyone!”
*
Unable to tolerate being in the house and listening to anyone else tell him what he should do to win the hand of a very unwilling woman, Marcus had sought relief in the one place that would always be a bastion for men. His club. As he approached the door, it was opened and he was greeted by the majordomo. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
“Thank you, Alberts. I assume I’m still a member here?”
The man smiled, but the expression was restrained. Effusiveness would never do for such an exclusive club. “For life, sir, and I must say we are very glad to have you back with us.”
It was the warmest welcome he’d gotten since he’d been home, he thought. “Is Highcliff in?”
“Yes, my lord. At his usual table. Shall I send over a bottle of brandy?”
“Two bottles,” Marcus corrected. “It shall be a long day.”
“Very well, my lord. I will see to it.”
Marcus stepped into the luxuriously and masculinely-appointed interior of the club. Dark wood, rich leather and not a dainty, gilded chair in sight—it was a welcome reprieve. Highcliff was at a table in the back. The man was dressed in a garish fashion, but far less so than was typical of him. Of course, he knew why.
“Well look what the cats have dragged in,” Highcliff said at his approach. “You’re dressed better today, but I daresay far more glum than at our last meeting. Are you here to discuss any new developments regarding your cousin and his peccadilloes?”
Marcus seated himself. As the footman approached with a tray laden with snifters and bottles of brandy, he answered, “In part, yes. Charles claimed that he was injured at Corunna, suffered a head wound and lay senseless for days afterward. Is that something that could be verified?”
“Easily enough. I can track down the physicians and surgeons who were stationed there and see if they recall him… it’s very likely they may not. I daresay, they saw so many wounded it would be hard to keep track.”
“What about members of his regiment? They would likely recall better, I think,” Marcus said. “If they had to pick up the extra slack of keeping watch and the various other unpleasant duties of an enlisted man while he recovered, they’d recall it well enough, I think. Before I decide whether or not to see him punished for his actions toward me, I need to be certain that others didn’t suffer from his misdeeds, as well.”
Highcliff nodded sagely. Their club, a haven for men such as themselves who had committed to doing whatever was necessary for king and country, was one of the few places where Highcliff could drop his dandified facade. “I’ll set about finding them then. What exactly is it that you fear he may be guilty of?”
Marcus sighed heavily. “Charles was hardly the sort to seek out a military career, was he? That sort of work has never appealed to him. The only thing that would induce Charles to risk life and limb that way would be a significant amount of money, and we both know that he didn’t earn that as a soldier.”
Highcliff nodded in agreement. “There have been rumors that someone betrayed us at Corunna… that information was leaked into enemy hands that forever altered the outcome of that particular battle. You think it was Charles?”
“I think it could have been, but I have no proof,” Marcus answered evenly.
“I will look into that, as well. But that isn’t why you’re here, is it? What else brings you to the club in the middle of the afternoon?”
Marcus sighed wearily, “Please share with me any wisdom or insight you have!”
Highcliff arched one eyebrow, “That certainly sounds dire.”
It was. His life, his future depended upon it. “Do you understand anything at all of the workings of the female mind?”
Highcliff laughed, the deep sound booming throughout the room. “My friend, no man understands the workings of the female mind,” he finally answered, still chuckling under his breath. “We are not meant to understand them anymore than we are meant to understand any of the great mysteries of life. Women are meant to be enjoyed, to be worshipped, to be seduced… they are never meant to be understood.”
“I am not speaking of affairs of the heart, Highcliff… it is a business arrangement perpetrated between my father and the father of my betrothed. We are supposed to be wed and she is not just reluctant but altogether unwilling. I cannot say if it is marriage altogether she is opposed to or simply marriage to me.”
Highcliff shook his head as he opened one of the decanters of brandy and poured liberal amounts into each snifter. “Althorn, I’ve known you since we were boys. I daresay, I am the closest thing to a friend you have. You have always been too proper, too stiff, and too antiquated in your thinking. The business is between her father and yours. The romance of the thing should be between you and your bride. All women long for seduction, for romance, for desire. If you are not offering those things to her then, of course, she is reluctant to wed you.”
“I have been honest and forthcoming—”
“About your very rational and practical reasons for marrying her at someone else’s behest?” Highcliff interrupted. “It’s no bloody wonder she turned you down flat. She ought to have slapped your face in the process.”
Marcus took a healthy swallow from his own snifter of brandy before demanding, “Are you my friend or hers?”
“If she is to be your bride, they are one and the same. Tell me, Althorn, do you find your bride attractive?”
“Of course, I do. She’s quite lovely.” Marcus didn’t add that she had a delightfully curvaceous figure and golden blonde hair that made him itch to wrap those strands about his fingers. To do so would be counterproductive. They couldn’t even speak to one another without snapping like vicious dogs. To attempt anything further would likely result in significant maiming.
“And does she have any indication that you find her so… or have you simply allowed her to believe that you’re not unwilling to marry her? Because eager to do so and simply willing to are very different things,” Highcliff pointed out.
“I informed her that I wished for us to have a partnership and that the funds made available to us through marriage would be put to good use in our life and in my endeavors to aid returning soldiers,” Marcus explained. His reasons were sound, he thought. Not romantic, but certainly sound.
Highcliff shook his head. “You are an absolute fool… a fool, my good man. Apologize. Profusely. I’d tell you to write a sonnet to her beauty but no doubt you’d muck that up as well. Just tell her that you find her attractive, that you desire her… or do one better and show her. I have to imagine that you’d do a damned sight better with action than words.”
“She is a gently-bred young woman.”
“What the devil has that got to do with anything? Women are women regardless of the quality of sheets they were born in or lie upon. They crave pleasure as surely as men do. They simply have to hide it more,” Highcliff explained. “If you want her to be your wife, you must first show her that you want her—not as a bride or a prize to be won, but as a woman. That is all.”
Marcus sat back in his chair and sipped his brandy thoughtfully. He’d never entertained the notion of treating Miss Barrett as he might have treated a woman he truly had to woo. It had seemed to him that, with the decision effectively taken from their hands, there’d been no need. Even his suggestion of courtship had not been intended that he should win her hand but that they should publicly display their relationship to prevent any gossip that their wedding might not occur as planned.
“Dammit,” he said and placed his snifter back on the table. “I have to go.”
Highcliff smirked. “Of course you do. Go forth and seduce with great success, my friend. I’ll just stay here and finish off this fine brandy so it doesn’t go to waste.”