Chapter Fourteen
Are you telling me I lost that wager, as well?
“It matters not. Mother wants a man with a title for me, and, like you, what Mother wants, Mother gets.”
Her answer to Giles’s question played repeatedly in her mind as she tossed and turned in her bed that night. He was determined, and so was her mother. He was confident, so was she. He never lost, neither did Mother. She felt as though she were being pulled apart like a piece of taffy.
Of course, she hadn’t been able to answer him because a yes, you lost the part of the wager that I would fall in love with you, would be a lie, and a no, you did not lose would have been a disaster. She’d admitted to herself during the house party what she felt for him. It was the reason she’d allowed him to make love to her.
Thankfully, the dance had ended shortly after he’d asked his question, and her mother was right at her elbow, whisking her away to eat supper with her and Lord Ambrose.
Father had taken to the card room the minute they’d entered the ballroom, and Mother had spent her time watching Suzanna like a hawk, and had subtly, but firmly, brushed off those gentlemen who’d approached her who were not suitable. No title.
Blast it all to hell!
She cringed at thinking those words, even if only in her mind, but she was tired of hearing about the benefits of marrying a lord. If Mother was so enamored of titles, she should have held out for one herself. It was exceedingly unfair of Mother to expect Suzanna to follow her dreams. Was she not entitled to her own?
Love had always been a fond wish for her marriage. Nothing appealed to her more than a man who was besotted with her. And she with him. And children who were the product of that love, not born as a duty to merely secure a title.
What had Mother found so horrible about being married to Father? It was apparent he adored his wife and allowed her free rein over his life and their daughter’s.
Mother had held her tongue on the return ride to Lord Montford’s home. However, once they’d arrived back and ascended the stairs, she glared at Suzanna and ordered her to attend her immediately. With a great deal of trepidation, Suzanna followed her mother down the corridor until they reached the room her parents had been assigned.
Father had elected to join Lord Montford in the drawing room for a brandy, and Lady Montford had retired to her bedchamber, casting Suzanna a sympathetic glance.
Mother didn’t waste any time. The minute the door was closed, she rounded on her and went on the attack. “Young lady, the reason I rose from my sick bed to travel all the way to London is because of the rumors that reached me about you and this Templeton fellow.”
It always amazed Suzanna how her mother seemed to know absolutely everything, even though she’d been buried in the country. “I have no idea what you mean, Mother. Mr. Templeton is merely a man I’ve met this Season, initially because he attended Patience’s wedding. He is a close friend of the duke, and that is how I became acquainted with him.”
Perhaps Giles’s highborn connections would sway her mother. However, as Mother pulled the feathers from her head with enough vengeance to rip her hair from its roots, she snarled, “Don’t play false with me. I heard the two of you were quite cozy at the house party you both attended recently.”
Suzanna held her breath, hoping one of the messages Mother had received did not include their foray into the folly or the disaster of her walk in the woods. But that was impossible, since there hadn’t been enough time between the end of the party and Mother’s arrival for her to receive that news via a letter. The talk of them at the house party must have been something Mother had learned at the Eversons’ ball this evening.
Had she been questioning people? A mortifying thought, that.
“I will allow no dallying with Mr. Templeton. Do I make myself clear?” The pins flew from her head as she let her hair down.
The little girl who had always done what Mother said rebelled. She was a woman grown, and she had the right to her own opinions. “Mother, I don’t understand this need to marry a man with a title. I would think you would want happiness for your daughter.”
Mother leaned in and pointed her finger at her. “You will find a great deal of happiness as a secure member of the ton. As a nobleman’s wife, all doors will be open to you.”
Holding her ground, Suzanna crossed her arms over her chest. Maybe it was being away from Mother this Season, but she did not want to capitulate to her mother’s wishes. Especially on this matter that would affect her entire life. “All doors are open to you, and you’re not a nobleman’s wife.”
Mother sniffed. “I have never been held to the same level of esteem as my sisters. They both married titles, and by the time Father got to me, he was merely anxious to see me off, and didn’t care if my husband had a title or no.”
Oh, Mother. Perhaps she had ignored the gossip about the number of mistresses Cousin Eunice’s father had kept all the years of his marriage. That was not the sort of thing her father would do, and that should mean more to a wife than a man’s title.
“But Father loves you. He gives you everything you want. Doesn’t that make you happy?”
Mother dismissed years of pleasant conjugality with one sweep of her arm. “What would have made me happy was marrying a man with a title. Like my sisters.” With a great deal of enthusiasm, Mother tugged her earrings out and tossed them on the dressing table. “And then their two daughters married titles, too.”
“Eunice and Cousin Grace?”
“Why do you keep questioning me? You know precisely of whom I speak. I do not see much of Grace, with all those children she’s popping out every year, but Eunice has always lorded it over me.” Mother glared at her through the mirror on her dresser.
Suzanna’s patience snapped. “That is so untrue! Cousin Eunice is one of the nicest and most unpretentious women I know. She has done everything to make me feel welcomed and at home.”
Her mother’s lip curled. “You don’t see what I see, my dear.”
Sometimes her mother could be absolutely wretched. Realizing the conversation was going nowhere, and faced with the beginning of a megrim, Suzanna asked to be excused.
Mother turned. “Unfasten me. That useless maid must have gone to bed already. I will give her a tongue lashing in the morning.”
Suzanna diligently undid the long row of buttons on her mother’s gown and unlaced her stays. “May I be excused now?”
“Yes, find your bed. But remember what I said.”
Lying in her bed now, Suzanna blew out a deep breath. The Giles she’d come to know over the past weeks was nothing if not tenacious. Even though they hadn’t been able to spend any more time together once Mother tugged her away at the end of the waltz and presented her to Lord Ambrose—like a prize on a platter—Suzanna worried that Giles would do something very soon to cause an uproar.
…
Giles tugged on the cuffs of his jacket, then dropped the knocker on the front door of the Montfords’s townhouse. It mattered not that Suzanna had told him her father would not allow anyone without a title to request permission to court her. From what he’d seen of the man, he seemed a devoted husband and father. Certainly, any father would be delighted to know his daughter was being courted by a wealthy man who loved her to distraction and would provide well for her.
Even though there was a wager between them, he felt no qualms at helping along his side, since he planned to send the money to the orphanage anyway.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Templeton. Shall I tell Miss Blake you are calling?” Jamie stepped back, allowing Giles to enter.
“I would like to speak with Mr. Blake, if he is available.” Giles held out his card to the man.
If Jamie was surprised by his request, as all good butlers, he did not show it. “Certainly. If you will follow me to the library, I will see if Mr. Blake is accepting callers.”
Giles entered the library and strolled to the window while he awaited Suzanna’s father.
He’d thought about rehearsing what he wanted to say but decided forthright speaking directly from the heart was the best way to present himself to his future father-in-law.
As Mr. Blake entered, Giles was reminded that the man was not an imposing figure, but looked rather like a soft-spoken, easy-of-manner man. He walked across the room and held out his hand. “Mr. Templeton? I don’t believe we’ve spoken, although I remember you from the day we arrived.”
Giles shook his hand. “Yes, sir. I was present that day. I had hoped to speak with you last evening at the Eversons’ ball, but we ended up in different rooms.”
“Not a card player, are you?”
“Yes. On occasion. Last night I chose to pass on the games.”
Mr. Blake waved to a chair in a small grouping in front of the fireplace. “Won’t you have a seat? Would you care for some brandy, or I can ring for tea?”
Keeping a clear head, and making a good impression uppermost in his mind, he said, “Thank you, no.”
Once they were both settled, Mr. Blake sat back in his chair, resting his hands on the arms. “What can I do for you, Templeton?”
“I have come to request permission to court Miss Blake.” There, it was out. No fussing, no hedging, just straight out.
To Giles surprise, Mr. Blake did not seem surprised. His face remained passive, and putting his fingertips together, he tapped on his lips and continued to study him for a few moments. “I am sorry to disappoint you, young man, but I am afraid I cannot grant you the permission you seek.”
Well, that certainly didn’t take a whole lot of time and thought.
“May I ask why not?”
“First of all, I know nothing about you.”
Giles dipped his head in understanding. “You are right. I apologize for neglecting to begin my conversation in the correct manner. I am the third son of the Earl of Wexford. I have an estate in Bedfordshire next to the Abbey—the Duke of Bedford’s estate. My land and home were granted to me, along with a generous income, by my maternal grandparents. I have turned that income into enough money to provide well for a wife and as many children that appear for the rest of our lives.
“I also have a townhouse here in London. I do not gamble or drink to excess. My name has not been linked to any scandals, and although I have had my share of liaisons, it is my full intention to remain true to my marriage vows when I take a wife.”
Mr. Blake merely nodded with Giles’s comments, then said, “Why my daughter? Surely someone as settled as you, with your wealth and good looks, must be quite the catch.”
Stunned by that esoteric remark, he said, “Perhaps. However, it has always been my intention to love the woman I marry. That has never happened, until I met Miss Blake.”
The man stood and walked to the sideboard and poured a brandy. He turned and held up the bottle. “Are you sure?”
Giles shook his head, hoping he was speaking of the brandy, and not his claim to love Suzanna.
Once Mr. Blake was settled in his chair, he took a sip of the brandy and viewed him over the rim of the glass. Giles refused to be intimidated if that was the man’s objective. He had every intention of obtaining permission to court Suzanna.
“Young man, it has always been Mrs. Blake’s plan for my daughter to marry a man with a title. I have no reason to believe Suzanna disagrees with her mother. While you seem like a nice sort of fellow, I suggest you turn your attentions elsewhere.”
If he’d meant to dismiss him, he did not know the man to whom he spoke. Giles gathered his thoughts, and then striking a casual pose, looked Mr. Blake in the eyes. “With all due respect, Mr. Blake, I must disagree with you. I have spent some—well-chaperoned—time with Miss Blake, and we seem to get on quite well.”
Before Suzanna’s father was able to offer a retort, Giles continued, “I have every reason to believe Miss Blake would be quite receptive to my request to court her.”
Mr. Blake sighed and placed his now-empty glass on a small table in from of him. “Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. Mrs. Blake will not allow our daughter to marry anyone who does not possess a title. I have found over the years if I wish a peaceful household, agreeing with my wife is generally in my best interest. With that in mind, I cannot approve your request to court Suzanna.”
Fighting to control himself faced with such absurdity, Giles reined in his temper, knowing it would not serve his purpose to grab the man by the throat and throttle him. “Does your daughter not have a say in her future, then?”
“Come now, young man. You are fully aware of how marriages are determined among the Quality. Very few ladies, or gentlemen, have a choice. But, nevertheless, things always work out in the end.” He stood, announcing their interview was over.
Giles followed Mr. Blake from the library to the entrance hall, where the older man gave him a slap on the back. “Find yourself a nice young lady who isn’t aiming quite as high as Mrs. Blake.” Giles did not imagine the brief flash of sadness on the man’s face.
He took his hat from the butler and left the house. As he made his way down the stairs, he turned and looked up at the window. Almost as if he knew she would be there, Suzanna looked down at him, her hand pressed against the glass.
Don’t worry, my love. I am not giving up.
…
Suzanna watched Giles as he strode away from the house. There was no doubt in her mind that he had called on her father to request permission to pay her his attentions. The only question remaining was if Father would tell her mother about the visit. She held no hope that he had said yes.
She sighed and turned from the window. Tonight was another ball. Mother had already been in to see her, to make sure her gown for the evening was suitable to “catch a lord.” At this point, all Suzanna wanted to do was stay in her room or return to the country.
There remained no reason for her to continue with the blasted Season. Obviously, Father had not given Giles permission to court her, and even the most stalwart of men would not pursue a woman whose parents were so adamant about her future. Mother would spend the rest of their time in London shoving her from one titled gentleman to the next, until she finally received an offer.
A light tap at the door drew her attention from her musings. She padded across the room and opened the door to Cousin Eunice.
“May I come in? I thought you might want some company.” Eunice offered her a soft smile as she placed her arm around her shoulders. “Come, let us talk for a bit.”
“You know?” Suzanna said as they sat on the settee in front of the window.
Eunice took her hands in hers. “Yes. I’ve known for some time that you are enamored with Mr. Templeton, as he is with you. I also know your mother is quite determined to see you as a titled lady.”
Tears sprang to Suzanna’s eyes unbidden. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid I’m about to make a cake of myself.”
Eunice handed her a handkerchief. “I just saw Mr. Templeton leave after speaking with your father. He didn’t look pleased.”
“I am not surprised. I told Giles—um, Mr. Templeton—that Father would not grant him permission to court me. But he refused to listen.”
“A man rarely hears anything that goes against his determination to have the woman he loves. And, from what I’ve seen, Mr. Templeton is very much in love with you, Suzanna.”
Suzanna pulled her hand away from Eunice’s and began to pace. “I don’t know what to do. In the short time she’s been here, Mother has thrown me into the path of several men who appeal to her but leave me cold.”
“I wish I could offer a solution, but aside from running off to Gretna Green, I’m afraid your Mother will have her way.”
Suzanna sat again. “It is unfair. There is so much more to a man than his title. Too many lords I know are drinkers, gamblers, and libertines. A great deal of marriages are merely two people living in the same house—in some cases, not even that—while they each carry on with lovers.”
Eunice smiled. “As a young gentlewoman, you are not supposed to know about such things.”
“I am not blind. Nor stupid.” Suzanna hopped up again and strode to the window, pushing the drape aside to look down at the street. Sometimes she wished she was simply a merchant’s daughter, or a seamstress, or governess. Then she would have more say in her marriage, and not have to marry to raise her parents’ status.
Soon it would be time to dress for dinner and then attend the Robinsons’ ball. Would Giles be there? He knew she would be attending. Or had he given up after speaking with her father?
She dropped the drape and returned to where Eunice stood shaking out her skirts. “I must dress for dinner. I will attend the Robinsons’ ball this evening. I assume your mother and father are attending also?”
Suzanna gave a very unladylike snort. “Unless Mother is near death, she would not miss attending any event where she can drag more titled gentlemen into my path. It is becoming downright humiliating the way she behaves.”
Eunice patted her cheek. “Don’t give up yet, Suzanna. I have a feeling that young man of yours is not about to surrender.” She gave her a light kiss on her cheek and turned to leave the room but stopped. “I am sorry to inform you that your mother has declined the invitation Mr. Templeton offered to you for the theater.”
“But that invitation was also to you and Lord Montford!”
“We will attend another time. I don’t want to make things any more difficult for your young man.”
After a bath and assistance from Eunice’s lady’s maid, Bessie, Suzanna pulled on her gloves, picked up her fan and shawl, and left the room. She had elected to have a dinner tray brought up, not feeling very sociable.
She had expected Father to summon her after Giles had left, but he hadn’t. Now she felt a knot growing in her stomach as she descended the stairs. Most certainly, Father had told Mother about Giles’s visit, and no doubt Suzanna would be subjected to another harangue in the carriage on the way to the ball.
Father was assisting Mother with her wrap as Suzanna descended the stairs. Mother turned and viewed her with narrowed eyes. “I have a few things to say to you in the carriage, young lady, but, since Lady Montford will be joining us, I will hold my tongue.”
Suzanna nodded and moved to take her father’s arm. “However,” Mother continued as she took his other arm, “you know precisely what I have to speak with you about. You are to forget Mr. Templeton’s visit here today. You will ignore him at the ball, and you will make yourself pleasant and charming with the other gentlemen there.”
“You mean all the titled gentlemen.”
If Mother recognized her statement as sarcasm, she did not acknowledge it. Instead, she swept through the door, her head held high.