Chapter 9
“Sutherhorne, my daughter, Lady Sabrina Pepperdon, widow of the late Earl of Pepperdon. Sabrina, this is Brendan Whiddon, the Marquess of Sutherhorne.”
His cane hit the tiled floor as he moved toward her, echoing in her heart and sending a chill through her. This was not a wizened, weak shell of a man, but one whose cruel aura matched the baron’s. This is what made him far worse: he reminded her of her wretched father.
Once, long ago, Sutherhorne was no doubt a fine looking man. But time had not been kind. He had a wraith-like appearance, from his pale, white skin to his full head of white hair and his icy gray eyes. Deep lines were etched into his face, reflecting years of harsh living. Did he have a weak heart, as her father had proclaimed? God, she had had her fill of old, cold men.
The marquess stared at her with shrewd, lecherous eyes. She scanned the long length of him. Far too slender, and the breeches and polished hessian boots he wore were two decades out of date. Although, on closer inspection, his long frock coat and double-breasted waistcoat were of a more recent fashion. What an odd ensemble.
He stood in front of her, and she caught the cloying scent of musky cologne—it made her nose twitch. Liver spots dotted his temples, and it was then she realized he sported a closely cropped goatee; it was as white as his skin and not completely visible at first glance. His cheekbones were prominent, no doubt an attractive feature in years past. Now they only enhanced his austere appearance.
“My dear Lady Pepperdon,” he rasped, his voice as rough as sandpaper. He clutched her hand, which she had gloved on her way back from the school. She could feel the coldness of his touch through the fabric. It took all her inner resolve not to pull her hand from his in horror.
Mustering an indifferent but polite smile, she inclined her head. “My lord.”
“I will leave you both to become better acquainted.” Her father turned and marched from the room. Did Sabrina detect a spring to his step? Miserable man. He was genuinely happy to be rid of her. As hard as she tried to ignore it, the fact her own father did not love her still smarted.
“Were you offered refreshment? Perhaps I can order tea.”
“No, thank you. I recently had a meal at the inn. Shall we sit?” he asked. A brief, brittle smile haunted his waxen features.
Sabrina immediately sat in the wingchair. She had no desire to sit next to him on the small settee. With a fling of the tail of his coat, he sat opposite, crossing his long legs.
“Allow me to give you a little information about myself. I am sixty-one years of age, in fine health, and in the possession of a modest fortune. I have been a widower for fifteen years, and I am of a mind to marry again. I do a fair bit of entertaining and need a hostess for these events.” He leaned forward, his bony hands resting on the ornate knob of his silver cane. “But more than that, I am lonely. I want a companion, a friend.”
Nothing he said caused her to be alarmed, but his narrowing gaze made her tremble involuntarily. Fine health? Her father had lied to her about the heart condition; she was not the least bit surprised. There was something not quite right about this man. He acted smug. As if he already owned her.
“Allow me to speak boldly, my lady,” he continued. “I am of an amorous nature, and because of it, I wish for a willing bed partner—one old enough to appreciate experience and young enough to withstand my attentions.” A slow, creeping smile spread across his face, like a malevolent feline spying a helpless mouse. “I already have an heir and a spare. I have no desire to have squalling brats running about my house. The fact you are barren appeals to me greatly.”
The utter arrogance of men. They automatically believed the blame of not becoming pregnant lay solely on the woman. Pepperdon had made her see a physician, and the doctor had quietly relayed to her that all appeared to be in working order and perhaps the culpability, as it were, lay with Pepperdon. God forbid the doctor reveal such a fact to the earl. But neither did she. It would have only angered him further and no doubt subjected her to more humiliation.
Her father must have given Sutherhorne all the salacious details of her marriage to Pepperdon. May all men rot in a fiery pit. Well, except Riordan. Looking at the earl, she was glad she’d sought out the schoolmaster. Such a stark difference between them. Riordan was welcoming warmth, the marquess the complete opposite. A walking, talking icicle. He eyed her, waiting for her response.
Sabrina cleared her throat. “I appreciate your frankness. Allow me to do the same. My marriage to Pepperdon was loathsome, and he left me penniless. I have a few caveats before I will consider your suit.” Her voice was strong, her tone confident. She was off to a good start.
He arched an eyebrow. “Indeed? Your father did not indicate such.”
As I surmised. “I will be bringing my personal maid with me. Her yearly salary is forty pounds per annum, to be paid quarterly. By you.” Sabrina decided to keep talking with the marquess, to allow both him and her father the illusion that she was even considering this marriage.
He gave her a slight shrug. “That is agreeable. The salary is a bit more than what is paid a lady’s maid, but I will consent to it.”
“I also will require a quarterly payment. Let us call it pin money. I want currency to call my own to spend as I please. I should not have to come begging if I wish to purchase new gloves or a book.”
The marquess’s steely gaze narrowed further. “Greedy little thing. Again, I do not object. Shall we say fifty…?”
“One hundred pounds per quarter.”
He licked his thin, colorless lips. “I daresay you have more fire in you than your father led me to believe. What a pleasant revelation. It will bode well in the bedchamber.”
The bedchamber again. The complete conceit of the man. Was she supposed to be charmed and excited by this? Instead it made her stomach churn. Sabrina decided to ignore his statement. “I require you to stipulate in your will that upon your death, I will be granted a yearly stipend of three thousand pounds until my death, and a place of residence of my choosing. All I require is a comfortable, modest place by the sea. Before I agree to any marriage, I must see all these provisions in writing, in a legal and binding document.” There. The requests should delay things long enough for her to make her escape.
“Well. Marriage to Pepperdon taught you much. What you are requesting is not unreasonable. Any man of honor would make sure his widow was provided for. Pepperdon was a lout. Rest assured I will meet your demands.” He stood, and Sabrina did the same. Apparently the meeting was concluded. What a relief. “I will go at once to the solicitor in town.” He patted his coat pocket. “I already have a special license, signed by the archbishop himself. I will pay a visit to the town vicar and make arrangements. We will be married before the week is out.”
“Perhaps you are getting ahead of yourself, my lord?”
He stalked toward her, and without thinking she backed up several steps until she found herself against the fireplace mantel. He leaned in; his heavy, pungent scent nearly made her retch. “I have waited eleven years for this, Sabrina, and I have run out of patience. You see, your father chose Pepperdon over me. There was more than one suitor for your hand. Quite the…contest.” A cruel smile spread across his face. “All I know is I wanted you then, and I want you now. More than ever.” He whorled the shell of her ear with his tongue, causing her to cry out. “I will have you, make no mistake,” he whispered before he stepped away. “I shall return tomorrow with the appropriate agreements, and I will expect your answer. Good afternoon, Sabrina.” With his hand on the door handle, he paused, turned, and stared at her with a neutral expression that developed into a slow, wide grin. With a slight cackle and nod, he opened the door and left.
As if out of a Gothic novel, cracks of thunder sounded as he exited the room. Heavy rain thrashed against the windows in concert with her beating heart.
Sabrina whirled about and grasped the mantel to keep from collapsing into a heap. Never had she been so frightened. She covered her mouth to keep a scream from clawing its way up her throat. What did he mean by a contest? Sabrina did not like the sinister way he’d conveyed the sentence. As if it had an underlying and ominous meaning.
Regardless, the path was clear. She could not stay here no matter the circumstances. Nor could she allow herself to be trapped in another loveless marriage with an old peer.
For a brief moment, when Sutherhorne had agreed to her demands, she’d considered going through with the marriage. It would ensure her future…and Mary’s. But in the end, she could not do it. Not for all the money and comforts in the world.
Her future now lay in the hands of a schoolmaster. She had to place her complete trust in Riordan Black and pray he managed to wring a settlement out of her father and turn Sutherhorne away. How could it be accomplished? There were too many variables. It could all go wrong in many ways. The more she thought about it, the more she realized the mad scheme had no chance of success.
Sabrina had no choice. There was only one thing to do.
Run.
* * * *
A rumble of thunder sounded overhead, causing the students to gasp and gaze worriedly at the heavy rain lashing against the windows. Howling winds rattled the panes and tore leaves from nearby trees. Riordan had not witnessed such an intense thunderstorm in October before. “Settle down, students. We’re safe. No cause for alarm. The roof will hold and not spring any leaks, I am sure of it. Now, where were we?”
Charlie raised his hand. “You were showing us the globe.”
Riordan’s personal curriculum did not follow the standard one in use for smaller, rural schools, where emphasis lay on physical labors instead of intellectual ones. Why would a farmer care where the Russian Empire is located on a map? was the general thinking. Riordan did not subscribe to teaching knitting for girls and shoemaking for the boys, for example. Developing the mind was a far more useful skill.
It had taken some doing to convince the board, and there were a few in the town who objected to his “radical” teachings. Like the vicar. He wanted a curriculum that leaned heavily on religion, infusing bible study as part of the daily routine. Riordan had managed to convince the vicar—and the board—that religion was best left to an expanded Sunday school period.
Riordan reached for the large globe and held it up in front of him. “There is a huge world out there beyond Great Britain.” He spun the globe. “Earth moves about in space just like this, but perhaps not quite this fast.” The children giggled. “As we discussed yesterday, this is how we have day and night, the sun setting in the west and rising in the east. This is where science and geography intersect.”
A couple of the younger students looked at him with puzzlement. Sometimes, he forgot he was teaching children ranging from age seven to seventeen, the majority between the ages of ten and thirteen. “Intersect means to overlap, or to divide by passing through or across. For example, Weldon Road intersects with the town. Understand?” Everyone nodded. “Remember, if you do not understand the meaning of a word, raise your hand and I will gladly explain—”
A booming crash of thunder drowned out the rest of his sentence. His youngest student, a sweet girl named Annabelle, screamed and vaulted from her desk, then ran toward him. She flung herself at him, clutching his legs as if looking for protection. God, the poor wee thing was trembling.
His protective instincts went into full alert and he scooped the frightened child into his arms. She immediately hugged him about his neck, holding on for dear life. “There, child,” he whispered soothingly. “No need to be afraid. Thunder and lightning can be loud and overpowering, but they are merely a facet of weather, just warm air and cool air slamming against each other. It will be over soon, I promise.” He walked about the front of the class, humming quietly until Annabelle settled.
The young girl did not have a father; the man had disappeared when she was a baby. Annabelle ran to Riordan for protection because she had no other male influence in her life except him. A sad state of affairs, but Riordan soon learned many of his students looked to him as a father figure, and it was humbling indeed. He carried Annabelle to her desk and made sure she was calm and comfortable. Another crash sounded. Wait. It wasn’t thunder. Someone was pounding on the door.
“Students, study the drawing of the map of the world in front of you. When I return, we will discuss the continents. Clara, watch over the class.” The older girl nodded and moved to his desk. Clara had expressed a desire to be a teacher, and he often used her as a de facto assistant.
With the class under control, Riordan strode toward the alcove and the front entrance beyond. He flung open the door and a soaking wet Miss Tuttle stood before him, gasping and out of breath. “Mr.…Black …” she wheezed.
He clasped her arm and assisted her across the threshold. “Good God. What is it?”
She took several deep breaths and exhaled. “I…I ran all the way. One moment.” Regaining a more regulated breathing, she gazed up at him, her worried expression certainly cause for concern. “When we arrived, the earl was there. Sutherhorne.”
Damn. “He wasn’t supposed to be there until tomorrow.”
Miss Tuttle nodded. “Yes. Not expected. Lady Pepperdon was shoved into a room with him. She bade me to come to you, and to say whatever you’ve planned will have to be put into action immediately.”
“Come sit by the woodstove and dry off. Unfortunately, I can do nothing until class dismisses in two hours. Hopefully by then it will have stopped raining. In the meantime, stay as my guest, Miss Tuttle.”
“Thank you. Please, call me Mary as Lady Pepperdon does.”
“Very well, Mary.” Still clasping her arm, he escorted her to the woodstove and saw her settled. “Class, this is Miss Tuttle. She is taking refuge from the storm and will be our guest for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Tuttle,” the class said in singsong unison.
Riordan’s mind raced. What he’d planned would have to be put into action right away. A good thing Garrett had not departed for home yet—he would need him. But first…he turned toward his eager students. “The continents…”
* * * *
The rain had let up by dismissal. After assuring Mary he would act immediately, he made for his cottage. Upon entry, he found Garrett sitting in the overstuffed armchair with one long leg dangling over the side. He had a book in one hand and a whiskey in the other. A roaring fire crackled in the hearth. Riordan stood in front of it and warmed his hands.
Garrett looked up from his book. “Dismissal already? Where did the afternoon go?”
“Don’t you look comfortable.”
Garrett slammed the book shut. “I am. I do not often take a respite like this. I must do it more often. Your housekeeper brought a kettle of beef stew by, along with a fresh loaf of bread. I’m famished. Let’s tuck in.”
Riordan turned to face his uncle. “The meal will have to wait. I have a favor to ask of you. All you need to do is stand next to me and look menacing.”
Garrett cocked an eyebrow. “Does the wretch deserve to be menaced?”
“Yes. He does.”
Garrett stood. “What are we waiting for?”
“First, I must ask you not to repeat to grandfather and father anything that happens or anything you hear. Rest assured I will attend the first of November’s family meeting and reveal all. I have already asked the board and was granted a personal day.”
“Jesus, what in hell are you doing?”
“I’m assisting someone in dire need. It is what we do as a family, is it not?” Riordan gave Garrett a brief smile. “The wretch in question is a marquess. There is a baron involved. And his daughter, the widow of an earl.”
Garrett closed his eyes. “Aw, hell.”
Riordan wrapped his wool muffler about his neck. “It could become messy. But I gave my word to the lady in question.”
Garrett’s eyes snapped open. “The widow? Again I ask: what the bloody hell are you doing?”
Riordan marched toward the door. “Rescuing a damsel in distress. It is too bad the horse isn’t white, but I will ride up on a noble steed nonetheless.”
Garrett grabbed his cloak and followed Riordan outside. The heavy rain had turned into a light mist, but the road into town was muddy and full of ruts. A nondescript brick building, the Carrbury Inn, came into sight. After handing off their horses to a young lad, Riordan pulled Garrett aside. “Go inside and ask for the Marquess of Sutherhorne. Tell him the Earl of Carnstone awaits him. I better not go inside, as the innkeeper sits on the education board. Having the schoolmaster threaten a peer would definitely be cause for dismissal.”
Garrett arched an eyebrow. “You think? I bloody well hope you know what you’re doing, Nephew.” With a grunt of disbelief, his uncle headed into the inn.
Actually, he had no idea what he was doing. He did not make a habit of threatening anyone, but could rise to the occasion if needed. No one stood in his way once his mind was made up. An unfortunate family trait, but it came in handy for their progressive causes. And this was a significant cause. Women should never be treated as property or chattel with no rights of their own.
Garrett stepped outside, bending slightly to allow the doorframe to accommodate his height. “Well, the message has been delivered. Now to see if he comes on his own. He does have a couple of men with him, no doubt his valet and a coach driver. I suppose you will do the talking and I will threaten bodily harm.”
“Yes. Thanks for this, Garrett. I will explain a little more when we return to the cottage.”
“Carnstone? Where are you, man? And what is the meaning of dragging me away from my warm fire—”
Garrett growled, clasped the marquess’s arm, and pulled him into the shadows of the alley next to the inn.
The older man stammered in protest. He had come out alone, a lucky occurrence. “Sorry, no Carnstone. You are to leave this vicinity immediately. There will be no marriage between you and Lady Pepperdon.” Riordan barked, though he kept his tone as quiet as possible in order to not be overheard.
“You insolent blackguard. Who are you to make demands?” Garrett growled once again, grabbed a fistful of the old man’s coat, and lifted him bodily from the ground. It looked to be no hardship, as the man probably weighed nothing more than a leafless twig. Sutherhorne cried out, struggling to free himself from Garrett’s tight grip to no avail.
“No one of significance, but know that my friend here will break you in half over his knee like a rotten piece of kindling if you do not agree to depart. Tonight.” Riordan paused. “But not before you write a note to the baron withdrawing your suit. How much is he paying you for a settlement?”
The marquess stopped struggling and glared at him. Riordan stayed in shadow and hoped his face was obscured from any possible identification. “Paying me? I am paying him!” Sutherhorne snapped.
Riordan’s insides twisted at the news. “There is no money?”
“No, there isn’t. Durning makes a habit of selling his daughter. He held a secret auction the first time around, I was there…and lost. Not again. I ensured I’m the only one in the running, as I offered him eighteen thousand pounds, which is to be paid before the marriage takes place. The baron and I have a deal, in writing, you cannot…”
Secret auction? Riordan could not believe his ears. Though Sabrina had said she was sold to the highest bidder, he’d thought it was merely a turn of phrase. Yet she’d spoken of a dowry paid to Pepperdon. Where did the truth lie? God, what a mess. “I can and I will. Since you have not paid for her yet, you can easily withdraw from the transaction. I have powerful friends, and I will let it be known that you were involved in illegal doings.”
Sutherhorne squeaked as Garrett lifted him higher. “Call off your damned beast! I will write the letter and leave tonight. But know this: I will find out who you are, and you will pay for interfering. Both of you. This I promise.” The last sentence dripped with menace. They had made an enemy here tonight.
“Take him inside to write the note.”
Garrett gruffly lowered the marquess, then commenced dragging him toward the inn. His uncle was certainly playing his role with a good deal of relish. Riordan ducked farther into the darkened alley and waited.
One statement was startling: if Sutherhorne was paying to marry Sabrina, there would be no dowry or settlement. How in hell could he break the news to her? Things had already been set into motion; there was no going back on the plan now. “Habit of selling his daughter…secret auction.” Which meant Pepperdon had paid for her as well. Disgusting, arrogant men, bartering for a young lady. Again, no dowry or settlement. It explained why Pepperdon had left her penniless. The late earl had obviously decided she did not deserve it, since he’d laid out a good deal of capital in order to marry her. Damn it all. He believed Sabrina was truly ignorant of these facts.
If the earl wasn’t already moldering in a grave, he would have ensured he be put there without hesitation. Both the marquess and the baron deserved the same fate. The potency of his growing anger alarmed him. Never had he come this close to committing murder.
Moments later, the inn became a beehive of activity. The marquess’s carriage was brought around, trunks hurriedly loaded on, and Garrett emerged from the inn with Sutherhorne in tow. He loaded the cursing marquess into the carriage and slammed the door. With a crack of the whip, the horses whinnied and trotted off out of town.
Garrett handed Riordan the sealed letter. “There is nothing to stop the bastard from sending a message to the baron anywhere along the road.”
“Yes, I thought of that. I’d better head to the baron immediately and inform Sabrina of what has transpired.”
“Sabrina, is it?”
“Garrett, if you could please procure the room Sutherhorne just exited, I would be grateful. Lady Sabrina and her maid will be staying here tonight. Probably the rest of the week. I’ll meet you at the cottage.”
Garrett was about to speak, then changed his mind. He clapped Riordan on the shoulder and gave him a look of what could be admiration.
Now to make his way to Baron Durning.
And to Sabrina.