Cavendish Brothers 02 - To Enchant an Icy Earl (7 page)

And there Calista and Lady Montague
remained attempting to make small talk, despite the fact that
nearly twenty minutes had already passed since their arrival, and
the added fact that they’d not yet heard a peep of any sort from
Devlin’s study.

But at least there had been no shouts.
She said a small prayer of thanks for little blessings.

“
He’s always seemed a
bit…well, perhaps a bit standoffish to me before,” the very pretty
young countess continued when Calista did not immediately respond.
“But I must admit I do not know the earl very well. Certainly not
as well as you do.”

But Calista didn’t know
Lord Fordingham very well at all, and
romantic
was hardly a term she would
use for any of their prior interactions.
Scandalous
might be more apt, or
even
wickedly delicious
, not that she’d admit as much to Miranda. But scandalous and
romantic were not necessarily synonymous, as anyone with two twigs
to rub together between their ears would know.

She looked around her brother’s
drawing room, wishing that an appropriate response would come to
her but knowing that such a thing was extraordinarily unlikely. But
then, Lady Montague was hardly older than Penny. Perhaps the
countess was as flighty as Calista’s youngest sister, and so any
answer at all would suffice for her question.

Deciding to hope that such was the
case, Calista tried to make it appear as though she were stifling a
smile and fighting not to blush. “He is romantic, yes. Very much
so.”

Lady Montague gave a delighted smile
and brushed a stray tendril of blonde hair back behind her ear,
then leaned in again. “Do tell. What sort of grand gestures has he
made? How did he ask you to marry him? I want to know absolutely
everything. You mustn’t leave out a single detail.”

Blast, she shouldn’t have lied. Now
she would either have to continue the lie, digging herself a deeper
hole than she already had, or she’d have to admit that she’d
stretched the truth. She’s stretched it quite considerably,
actually.

It didn’t help in the least that Lord
Fordingham hadn’t done any such thing as ask her to marry him,
either.

He’d informed Devlin that he would
ask…and then he’d told Lord Montague that they were betrothed. But
Calista’s wishes on the matter hadn’t been requested. Not even in
the slightest.

Right this moment, they
were probably in Devlin’s study drawing up the marriage contract
and settling all of the details it would contain. Her brother and a
man she’d only met last night were now deciding her future, without
even the tiniest bit of her input…but
with
that of an earl she’d only met
an hour ago, and who couldn’t possibly know what she would want out
of life.

How had this happened? And more
importantly, why wasn’t she more upset about it than she was? Now
was not the most opportune time to debate all of these details
within her head, however. Lady Montague deserved an answer to her
questions.

Calista opened her mouth, prepared to
deliver a grand, romantic tale, one like she wished she had
experienced with Fordingham…only to blurt out, “Actually, Lord
Fordingham hasn’t asked me to marry him at all.” She then proceeded
to bite down upon her tongue, as literally as such a thing were
possible. She bit it so hard, in fact, that it began to bleed. The
sharp taste spread throughout her mouth so fast, she dared not open
it again for a few moments lest blood spill out and stain her
gown.

“
He hasn’t asked you?” Lady
Montague’s voice rose in pitch, filling the small drawing room with
her dismay. “But he told my husband that you were
betrothed!”

Calista wanted to say something to
calm the young countess, but tears were filling her eyes from the
pain she’d imposed upon herself, and she couldn’t do a thing but
sit there in equal dismay for long moments.

Lady Montague stood and
paced to the window. “Whatever were you doing alone with him in a
carriage, Miss Bartlett? Oh, good heavens. And here I thought
London was finished with these sorts of scandals for a bit,
after…well.
After
.” Her hands waved through the air, as though the action
explained the words. “But it seems not, I’m afraid.”

After what? No matter how
Calista tried to interpret Lady Montague’s befuddling statement
within her mind, there was nothing for it. “I must apologize,” she
said a moment later when the countess neglected to clarify what she
meant, thankful that the bleeding seemed to have stopped, “but I
don’t quite understand what you mean by
after.
”

The countess turned, her eyes once
again sparkling. “Oh, but of course you wouldn’t. You were in
mourning last Season. I suppose there is nothing for it, then, but
to tell you.” She returned to the silk brocade sofa, flounced down
upon it beside Calista like Penny would so often do, and proceeded
to divulge scandalous and sordid tales of herself and her three
dearest friends who had each found themselves named in White’s
betting book in their debut Season.

“
And after all of that, I
was hoping that no more young ladies would find themselves in the
same sort of trouble as we did, you see,” she finished quite some
time later.

For lack of anything better
to say, while her head was filled with tales more delectably sordid
than Lord Ellis taking Valetta Norton to Gretna Green while Calista
and her family were in mourning, she murmured, “Yes, I see.” But
Lady Montague seemed to be a very proper young lady, and
Lord
Montague appeared to
be the very soul of honor. “A gas balloon? You truly flew in
one?”

“
I did,” Lady Montague
gushed. “And it was the most delightful thing I’ve ever done. Monty
has promised me that he’ll arrange for me to do it again sometime,
you know. Not with Lord Haworth, of course, but in a balloon he
intends to commission himself. He’s going to teach me to fly it!
Perhaps you could join us.”

“
But if it caused you to be
named in the book at White’s…”

A tinkling laughter escaped the
countess. “Oh, gracious, no! Monty has assured me many times over
that I was already named well before I went up in the balloon. And
I would be with you to chaperone, so you wouldn’t be alone with a
gentleman of indeterminate reputation, as I was.”

Calista flushed then, thinking back to
what seemed to happen every time she was alone with Lord
Fordingham.

Lady Montague took one of her hands
and squeezed. “Enough talk of scandal. We’ll ignore all of that for
now and think of happier things. And you must call me Georgie. All
of my friends do, and now that you know all of my deepest, most
embarrassing secrets, you must agree to be counted amongst
them.”

“
Then you should call me
Calista.”

“
Excellent.” Georgie
somehow tightened her grip on Calista’s hand, pulling her closer.
“Now, back to Lord Fordingham and your betrothal that isn’t quite a
betrothal.”

“
Betrothal?”

Louisa’s voice entered the drawing
room well before her person did. Apparently, she’d satisfied
herself that Penny and Miranda would not dare disturb them again,
at least not tonight. How anyone could be satisfied that Miranda
would do as she was told was more than Calista could fathom, since
her sister had been slipping beneath the notice of anyone and
everyone for years. It would seem Louisa was not yet aware of all
of Miranda’s schemes.

Louisa rushed to Calista’s side and
promptly flounced down beside her. She took her hand and squeezed.
“You’re betrothed to Lord Fordingham? Oh, Calista.”

She didn’t know how to respond. Not
even the tiniest little bit. All she knew was that a furious blush
was taking over her features, heating her cheeks and neck to an
unsightly degree.

Georgie clucked her tongue,
and her lips turned downward ever-so-slightly. “Do you
want
to marry him,
Calista?”

And that was perhaps the most
pertinent question of all.

The three days since Fordingham had
first made his way through a crowd and sought out an introduction
to Miss Bartlett had been perhaps the most stressful, and equally
the most enjoyable, of his life.

It was a rather strange sensation,
truth be told. He had great difficulty remembering anything in his
life in which he’d actually looked forward to something, or
anything which he’d delighted in remembering afterward. But nearly
every moment he’d spent in Miss Bartlett’s presence produced just
such an effect.

The result of it all was that he had
an ever-present desire to be in her company.

As such, complying with Marston’s
requirement that Fordingham and Miss Bartlett spend time with one
another in order to each better know and understand the other
wasn’t even the slightest bit uncomfortable for him.

The rain from two nights ago had
cleared, and the weather which replaced it was far more agreeable
than was normal for this time of year, and so Fordingham was
presently on his way to Marston House to escort his betrothed on a
promenade. He only hoped Miss Bartlett enjoyed exercise. He didn’t
know if she did or not, and he hadn’t thought to ask her about such
a thing in advance. The idea had simply struck him, and so he
dressed and left Fordingham House afoot on his way to fetch
her.

At some point, he truly
ought to try to plan ahead for those things in which she would be
involved. Then he could
ask
her instead of
inform
her of them. That would be the
gentlemanly way of going about all of this—wouldn’t it? Surely it
was. And therefore, it was what Miss Bartlett deserved.

More than anything else, he wanted to
be the husband to her which she deserved to have. At present, he
sincerely doubted he met such a requirement. Fordingham resolved to
learn to become that man, though, no matter what it took. The
Countess of Fordingham would be the best cared-for lady in all of
England, or he would die in trying to make her so.

He’d almost arrived at Marston House
when a Danby carriage passed by him on the road, and slowed. That
could mean only one thing, at least to Fordingham’s mind: Wesley.
He had half a mind to catch the driver’s attention and stop the
vehicle so that he could yet again confront his brother, but then
he thought better of it. A meeting with Wesley, were it anything
like their supper two nights ago, would prove to be a highly
unpleasant way to spend his day, and Fordingham had every intention
of making today as enjoyable as possible.

The carriage came to a stop at the
intersection, however, and the door opened. Then Fordingham nearly
fell over where he stood, because it was not Wesley who stepped
down from the conveyance, but Danby himself.

Seeing the old duke in Town was more
than enough to give Fordingham pause. He doubted the man ever left
his castle unless it was of dire necessity.

The fact that the older man scowled
over at him, and then crossed the brief distance separating them in
little more than the time required to blink an eye despite the use
of his cane, was enough to leave Fordingham blinking both his eyes
in confusion.

“
Did you know about this,
too?” the duke barked.

Fordingham shook his head, as though
that could possibly clear away the fog clouding his mind enough to
make sense of Danby’s question. “I apologize, Duke. Did I know
about what?”

Danby lifted his cane and cracked it
back down upon the ground. “Marston! What else would I be upset
about?”

This response, of course, clarified
absolutely nothing for Fordingham.

“
Clearly, you knew. Why
else would you play dumb now?” Danby leered, or perhaps sneered
would be more precise. “Although, you might not be playacting.
Nevertheless, there is no more need to pretend. Rumors reached me
in Yorkshire all the way from that blasted house party. When I
returned to Town, I heard the whole of the truth as soon as I
stepped foot in White’s. Marston stole my granddaughter, and he did
it without so much as a by-your-leave to me! Good thing I arrived
when I did, with a special license in tow.”