How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal) Page 8

  “Mamma, are you able to spare me for a few days? I should very much like to go with Adel to Rosette Park when she returns.”

  Her mother frowned. “Reports have indicated Lord Ponsby’s father has been abed from a hunting accident. Their estate is in Hampshire, and only a day’s ride from the duchess. It may do you good to be near, as you may call upon Lord Ponsby’s father. I’ll have to somehow spare a maid to travel with you.”

  “If that is your wish, Mamma, I would pay the earl a visit.”

  Her mother brightened. “Well,” she said on an exuberant sigh. “I believe Lord Ponsby shall be here shortly. Wear the dark blue carriage dress, it complements your complexion quite nicely, and today is the day if I am not mistaken.”

  “It is but an invitation to a picnic with his sisters.” Evie ardently hoped after her honesty at last night’s ball, he would only be open to friendship.

  “An invitation that involves family reveals his deeper intentions, and we must act with alacrity and secure him. You must also find a delicate way to indicate you will be in Hampshire soon and will call upon his father. Gentlemen admire such dedication to duty.”

  Exasperation rushed through Evie. “Mother, I have no intention of answering favorably to his offer if he shall make one.”

  Slow outrage dawned in the countess’s eyes. “You will accept, young lady. This household cannot afford your stubborn nature any longer.”

  “Lord Ponsby and I do not suit.”

  “You dismiss his good and agreeable nature.”

  She glanced down into the steaming teacup. “And his coffers?”

  “Do not be so vulgar, but it does not hurt your circumstances that he has over fifty thousand pounds a year.”

  “I do not care about his wealth, Mamma.”

  “You will accept his offer when it comes, Evie.”

  “Mamma, please, how can I marry the viscount when I love another?”

  “Love?” she scoffed. “You know nothing of love. Love is doing one’s duty to the betterment of the family as a whole; it is not about the selfish desires you possess for that disgusting reprobate.”

  Anger flashed through her, and she lifted her gaze to her mother. “Lord Westfall is not a reprobate. He has only acknowledged his daughter, which makes him more honorable than any gentleman I know.”

  “She is a bastard, and he now has no connection with his estimable family!”

  Evie flinched. “Many men of the ton have illegitimate issue.” Everyone was aware Richard’s father refused to speak with his own son for doing the unimaginable—acknowledging his bastard so that all of society knew of her existence. The rift had been a topic of scandal for months.

  “His daughter was left to suffer, she was neglected with an indifferent education, and may have ended up in the poor house.” For months, Evie had ignored the whispers of society condemning him and had remained silent when her mother joined forces with the other ladies. “She is a gentleman’s daughter and has been given the opportunity she should be due. He should be much admired, not disparaged.”

  Her mother stiffened with righteous fury. “Gentlemen do not claim their by-blows and flaunt them in their betters’ faces. Even if the marquess had wanted you, your father and I would not countenance any match that would damage our good name with lurid speculations.”

  Even if the marquess had wanted you…

  “Oh Mamma, how can you think such cruel thoughts?” The pain that pierced her heart was numbing. “I have never given the marquess a chance to be swayed by his charms.” She suppressed the memory of the kiss he had pressed against her lips years ago or the improper way he had caressed her skin in the conservatory. It had been brief, but he had branded her and left her in a ruined shamble. Unable to help herself, her fingers drifted to her lips and ghosted over them.

  “This is my final warning. You will forget Lord Westfall, or I will ensure he will never be accepted into another drawing room in all of London.”

  Her mother’s threat was empty. “Richard has become one of the most powerful men in all of England, and his wealth rivals his father’s own. He may be resented, but he is also admired and envied.” Evie lowered her cup to the walnut table, stood, and turned toward the windows, hugging her middle. “What is his fault, Mamma? He has taken in a child, one for whom he is responsible, and loves her. Where is the crime in such an honorable action?”

  “I shall speak with your father about this, but you will not be allowed to refuse another suitor. You will accept Viscount Ponsby.”

  “I will not. It is an imprudent match.”

  Her mother’s face flushed and her eyes snapped with anger. “Insolent girl! You lost one of the biggest catches of last year’s season because of your foolish desires. I will countenance it no more. I will demand your father deal with you. Take your thoughts away from that profligate reprobate. He mixes with vulgar commoners and lowlifes. Your father and I forbid you from dancing with him further.” Then the countess marched from the drawing room, slamming the door in her wake.

  With a sigh, Evie rubbed the spot on her forehead that was beginning to ache. Her mother had been less tolerant ever since Evie had indeed lost the match of the decade last year. There were rules one had to abide by, and the one instance in which Evie had broken those infernal stipulations, she had hurt her dearest friend and had created a scandal that was spoken of in hushed whispers even months later. The Duke of Wolverton had offered for Evie, and she had allowed Adel to be caught with him in a compromising situation so Evie could escape the union. She had acted with rash selfishness she had not thought made up part of her nature. It was a testament to her friend’s kind and forgiving nature they were still the dearest of friends, though Evie’d had a hard time forgiving herself.

  “I love Westfall. At the crest of each dawn, I think of him. He is my friend, my confidant, but I also yearn to be his lover. He makes me ache, and my heart belongs to him. He kissed me once, and I still feel the press of his lips against mine, the heat of his body, and the strength of his arms.”

  Words she had declared so passionately to her friend in justification for her actions. It was the only time Evie had ever owned to the feelings he roused in her. But then she had been desperate, unable to bear the idea of being married to the duke, while her heart and body ached for Richard.

  A gentle tap sounded on the door before it was opened, and in strolled her father. She hurried over to him, her hands held out. He took them and tugged her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

  “My dear Evie, you have your mother in an uproar.”

  Her father was the opposite of her mother in his temperament. He was quite affectionate, indulgent, and had always supported her when she discouraged a suitor. Even over the powerful Duke of Wolverton, her father had been happy to see her escape, for he truly cared about his daughter’s happiness. “Let us sit, Papa. Shall I ring for more tea?”

  “No, my dear, but we must speak with urgency. I fear I cannot delay any longer, and we must have this distasteful conversation.”

  The hint of desperation in his words had her mouth drying. She lowered herself into the sofa facing her father. “What is it, Papa?”

  A flush worked itself up his face, and he tugged at his cravat with evident nervousness. Anxiety rushed through her. “Please, Papa—”

  “I’ve given the viscount my permission to ask for your hand. I expect when the time comes, you shall accept his offer.”

  Her stomach twisted in tight, painful knots. “I do not understand. You promised me I would not have to marry someone I did not love.”

  He grimaced, rested his elbows atop his knees, and leaned forward. “Our coffers are nigh empty, and I cannot seem to turn our fortunes around.”

  Her stomach pitched. “Empty?”

  “Yes. We’ve retrenched, your mother has been practicing economy, and I’ve made a few investments with the monies I had, but I fear we acted too late.”

  Retrenched?

  “Papa, a full war
drobe was ordered for me this season, and for Mamma, too. I see no evidence of practicing economy.” Dear Lord. “Is Elliot aware?” There were rumors that spoke to her brother having a mistress and the lavish way he indulged her. Certainly, if he’d known of their precarious state of finances, he would not have been so reckless in his spending.

  “I spoke with your brother last week. He is now aware of his duty.”

  “Which is?” Though she feared deep in her heart she knew.

  “He has to marry an heiress.”

  Good heavens. Unable to sit still, she rose and paced across the room. “And this is the reason I must accept the viscount’s offer?” Evie contained her wince at the pleading note in her voice.

  Her father stood. “Yes, my dear, your family is relying on you to make this match. I am relying on you, dear child. An engagement will be announced at your mother’s annual ball in six weeks’ time. Do not make a muck of it as you did with Wolverton. Such antics will not be tolerated.”

  “Papa…” What am I to say? She had deliberately schemed to escape marriage to the duke and had caused a terrible scandal. It had been a happy coincidence that the other parties involved were blissfully happy with the situation her scheming had wrought.

  “For now, our dire state of affairs is guarded from the ton,” her father continued, as if she had not attempted to speak. “In a matter of weeks, our reputations will come under severe scrutiny. Workers and tenants who are depending on us may very well find themselves in an intolerable situation. Rents must be raised, and many who cannot afford it will have to find new homes. Your mother has already reduced our servants and is closing our townhouse in Bath for the season. There will be no taking the waters for any of us. This family is depending on you and your brother to do your duty.”

  His tone brooked no argument, and in truth, how could she not do all in her power to see her family secure?

  “My dear child, I am fully aware why you appear so stricken.”

  Her heart beat a painful cadenza. “I’m not sure you do, Papa.”

  Her father strolled over to her and clasped her hands between his. “The Marquess of Westfall is not for you,” he said gently. “He associates with undesirables. Look at his face. It’s those people he mixes with—no accounts, commoners, thieves, and cutthroats. He is a disgrace to our society. He has ideas, terrible ideas that have seen him make enemies. The arguments he has been pushing in the House of Lords and writing in the Cobbett’s Political Register and The Gentleman’s Magazine are inflammatory.”

  A disquieting sadness pierced Evie’s heart. “He is a man I admire very much, Papa,” she said without any discomfort. She’d always been able to discuss the finer sentiments with her father. She’d had his sympathy and understanding when she acted with rashness in breaking the unwanted attachment with the Duke of Wolverton. For her father to abandon all the promises he had made her indicated their situation was dire.

  “I’ve been present to witness your admiration of the marquess several times, young lady. The fault lies with me in allowing the friendship you formed with him. My dear,” he said softly. “If Lord Westfall should ever offer for you, despite your mother’s aversion, I would accept.”

  Evie gasped. “I thought you found him unsuitable.”

  Her father smiled kindly. “He is the heir to a dukedom, and even though his father has cut him off, Lord Westfall is obscenely wealthy if the rumors are to be believed. Certainly, he is more situated to help our family than Viscount Ponsby.”

  “Oh, Papa, I wish you would form a favorable idea of him based on his character.” She searched her father’s worried face intently. “How is it that we are in this much debt?”

  He winced. “Do not concern yourself with such matters. It is for your brother and me to discuss.” Then he pressed a kiss to her cheek and left her alone with her churning thoughts.

  Evie pressed her hands to her stomach and walked over to the windows, staring out at the palatial estate. It was her duty to obey her parents. Her father was on the brink of ruin and disgrace, and they were all depending on her to make a good match. She had to marry, and in good conscience, she could no longer delay. Her family needed her, and she had always understood that marriage alliances within society were not formed because of emotional sentiments. Marriages were made for political alliances, mergers of powerful and noble bloodlines, and for financial gain. From the tender age of fifteen, she had been groomed by her parents and society itself with one single goal—to marry for the benefit of her family. Though she understood her duty, her rebellious heart had always wanted to have some affection for the man she would spend the rest of her life with.

  A bewildering mix of anger, desperation, and rebellion wormed its way into her heart. Evie hurried from the parlor, almost running down the hall and up the stairs to her chambers. She went to her writing desk situated by the windows, opened the bottom drawer, and withdrew a sketchbook and several newspaper clippings. She sank into the plush and well-padded chair and flicked opened the sketchbook. The first image was gripping and stark in its details of men on the frontlines of war, positioned with their bayonets, and others crouched in ditches. Though drawn in charcoal, the fears and hopes on the soldiers’ faces were undeniable.

  Richard had drawn so many images for her, all beautifully detailed, though some were heartbreaking. But he had done the sketches to capture the places he had been in the war, and even other remarkable places like Vienna, Brussels, and Paris, where his drawings so wonderfully captured the people and their cultures.

  The newspaper clippings were of the various eloquent and well-argued articles he had written championing for so many poverty-stricken women and children and the invalided soldiers. He had deepened her admiration as he had been so steadfast in the face of such marginalization from high society, and the love she possessed for him would never abate, even if she wed another.

  With a deep sigh, she put them back and sat on the edge of her windowsill. She rested her chin on her upraised knees. How could she consent to marry another when Richard currently occupied all the space there was in her heart? How could she kiss another when it was his lips she dreamed about, his touch she hungered for? How could she selfishly marry a gentleman for his monetary worth, without possessing an ounce of regard for the man? The viscount was charming when it suited him, and he was most assuredly handsome, but the only sentiment he stirred within Evie was friendship. A well-connected marriage would indeed be beneficial to her family, but she could not possibly consign herself to a man she had no love for.

  She wondered if she should just ask Richard outright to marry her. Evie chuckled, quite able to imagine how appalled he would be at the mere notion. Her path was clear—she had to seduce Richard, bewitch his heart and soul as he’d done hers. Evie’s breath hitched at her singularly scandalous, improper, and undutiful thoughts.

  There was no help for it. She had to be decisive, bold, and dear Lord…rebellious.

  Chapter Five

  The carriage rattled with speed toward the heart of London. Evie shifted the small curtain and peered out the coach window into the gray-amber morning. She had ordered the carriage early with the intention of visiting the lending library to return a few books. She’d had a restless night, and had spent hours tossing, unable to find another way to help her papa out of the mess they were in, without marrying. They had to retrench, and it grieved her heart she could not cancel the several hats, laces, day dresses, and ball gowns she had ordered last week. If they were to cancel any items, it would be a signal of their precarious finances and the creditors would be knocking at their door before a solution was found.

  “We have to return home before noon, Lady Evie, before your mother wakes,” Miss Rogers, her lady’s maid said. “The countess will be displeased to find us gone and no one to attend her.”

  Evie nodded. She and Mamma had been sharing a lady’s maid for the past few months, though Mamma monopolized most of Miss Rogers’ time. She only saw to Evie’s hair an
d dressing whenever she headed out. Luckily Mamma always slept late whenever she attended a ball the night before. “You may return without me after we’ve visited the library. Please inform Mamma I’ve paid a call upon the Duchess of Wolverton. Her Grace will be kind enough to see me home in time for supper.”

  Miss Rogers nodded and settled herself more comfortably against the squabs. Evie would indeed pay a call upon Adel. She wanted a few hours away from her mother’s pressure to accept Lord Ponsby’s more than generous marriage offer, so she could marshal her thoughts to a clear order. Perhaps she would allow her friend to talk her out of the rash plans that had been swirling in her head since last night, namely her intention to call upon Richard before returning home.

  He mixes with undesirables…thugs…thieves.

  “Have you heard report of the man some call the Saint, Miss Rogers, and the areas he frequents?”

  Her lady’s maid’s eyes widened with speculation and Evie flushed.

  “Is that why you’re dressed as you are, my lady?” she asked with a pointed glare at Evie’s attire.

  Instinctively, Evie patted her head to ensure her hat was on firmly. She wore a light blue dress, a black Spencer jacket, and the hat with a veil. She’d had the notion to prevail upon Richard at his home, and her identity had to be protected. While she was discovering her reckless heart, Evie hoped she wasn’t foolish. Her veil and simple manner of dressing would see her protected from the avid scrutiny of anyone watching the coming and goings of his townhouse. “I am simply curious. If you are discomfited, I understand.”

  Miss Rogers’s nose wrinkled and amusement lurked in the depth of her brown eyes. “I’ve heard of the marquess, my lady. They say he was able to use his influence and rescue Mrs. Trent’s son from the gallows only last month.”

  From the gallows? “And who is Mrs. Trent?”

  “She is a widow in Lambeth. Since her husband’s death, it has been hard to survive.”

  “And her son’s crime?”

  “He stole a pocket watch from a gentleman. It was valued at thirty guineas.” Admiration lit Miss Rogers’s eyes. “My uncle said little Tommy was to be transported, but the marquess visited the magistrate in the dead of night, and all was settled. No one knows what he did, my lady, but little Tommy was freed. And Mrs. Trent was provided for generously.”