The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness (39 page)

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Authors: Tamara Lejeune

BOOK: The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness
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Pru sighed. “Then we have come all this way for nothing! Do you think
he
will ever wake up?” she added, doubtfully eyeing Lord Waverly.
“Poor man,” Patience murmured. “The doctor at Saint Albans gave him laudanum. He has carbuncles on his—on his behind. Don’t laugh, Pru. It’s very painful, I understand.” She sighed. “I must warn you: he’s not a very nice man. He may look like our father, but he’s nothing like him in character.”
“Nor in carbuncles!” said Pru, making her sister laugh. “I suppose,” Pru went on after a short pause, “dear Max is at Clarges Street already?”
“He
is
dear to me, Pru,” Patience said quietly. “I wish you would try to get along with him for my sake. You’re brother and sister now.”
Pru groaned.
“He’s not waiting for us in Clarges Street, as it happens,” Patience went on. “He is ... he is with his uncle at Sunderland House. There is ... There is some slight problem with our marriage.”
“What do you mean?” Pru said sharply.
“It—it may not be valid,” Patience confessed.
“Patience!”
“Oh, Max assures me it’s nothing to be concerned about,” Patience said quickly. “But, when he married me, he used the name Farnese.”
“I know that already. But what is the problem?”
“Farnese is not his name, as it turns out. His name really is Purefoy. It has never been anything but Purefoy. He was not disowned. His parents’ marriage could not be annulled. I don’t think the duke even attempted it. It was all ... a mistake.”
“A mistake! He deceived you!”
“No, it wasn’t like that.”
“Well, is your marriage valid or not?”
“I don’t know,” Patience admitted.
“Well, if you are not married,” Pru declared, “I will get a pistol, and I will force him to marry you!”
Patience thought of the kiss she had shared with Max that morning. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“I’m quite serious! If he tries to weasel out of it, I’m getting a pistol! No one trifles with my sister and gets away with it!”
“He did not trifle with me,” Patience protested. “We are married. I’m sure of it. And if we are not, Max will make it right. I have—I have faith in him. It’s only a piece of paper, after all.”
If Briggs was at all startled by the sudden, unannounced return of his mistress and her sister, he gave no sign of it. However, it cannot be denied that as Lord Waverly was carried inside the house, the butler’s brows were slightly elevated.
Patience tended to Prudence herself. First, Pru had a hot bath. Then she was bundled up into a flannel nightgown and put to bed, where she ate an enormous breakfast. As she was eating, a letter arrived by hand from Grosvenor Square. Patience took it from the servant who brought it up to her sister’s room. “He has a lot of nerve sending you a message!”
“What does he have to say for himself?” Pru asked. “I’m too tired to read anything.”
Patience broke the seal. Slowly she sank down to the bed as she read it.
“What does it say?”
Patience glanced up. “It is not from Lord Milford,” she said. “It’s from Isabella. She says her brother has your letters, but she knows where he keeps them. She thinks she can get them for you. If you can meet her at the bridge in Hyde Park tomorrow at dawn, she’ll return them to you. Pru, what letters?” she demanded, frowning. “What is she talking about?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Pru said with far too much innocence to be credible.
“Prudence! Tell me you didn’t write letters to Lord Milford! Love letters? If so, my dear, the joke was in very poor taste! Is it any wonder if he took them as a sign of encouragement?”
Pru scowled. “I never wrote any letters to Lord Milford!”
“Then what is the meaning of Isabella’s offer to restore them to you?”
“If you must know, she refers to some letters that I wrote, not to Milford, but to Max!”
“Max,” Patience repeated blankly. “What? My Max?”
“He was mine before he was yours,” Pru said, scowling. “You cut me out.”
“I could not have cut you out if he hadn’t liked me best,” Patience replied with some irritation. “Anyway, I believe you said you never liked him seriously.”
“No, indeed!” said Pru. “You’re very welcome to him, I’m sure.”
“And yet you wrote some letters?”
“It was a long time ago,” Pru said defensively. “When he went home to his uncle for Christmas, I wrote him a—a few times. They were very silly letters, I do admit. But I didn’t mean any of it. I plagiarized most of it. I was just ... just bored, really.”
“And how did Lord Milford get his grubby paws on some letters you wrote to Max?”
“Well, they were there,” Pru explained, “at Breckinridge. Bella and her brother, I mean. They were invited to the Christmas Ball. I don’t know how he got my letters exactly; he must have stolen them. That’s all I can think. But we must get them back, Patience!”
“Just how silly are these letters?” Patience asked, frowning.
“Very. You would blush.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t,” Patience said. “I don’t regard it in the least. You were not serious. If Milford tries to blackmail us, we’ll just laugh in his face.”
Pru pushed her food away. “It’s all well and good for you!” she said. “I’m glad you don’t care! But if... if
Roger
were to see those letters, he would never forgive me!”
“Roger?” Patience repeated blankly. “Roger Molyneux? What does
he
have to do with you and your letters?”
“Nothing.”
Patience was hardly credulous. “Prudence!”
Pru sighed. “We
were
sort of secretly married, but it’s over now. I don’t even know why he suddenly popped into my head. I just thought—”
“What?”
“I haven’t thought of him in donkey’s years. He didn’t even care that I was engaged to another man. I’m sure he won’t care that I wrote some foolish love letters to my sister’s husband.”
“Are you saying that you are
married
?” Patience broke in. “To
Roger Molyneux
?”
“Not married-married,” said Pru. “It happened in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, for heaven’s sake. The captain married us; he’s not even a clergyman. I realized at once that it was a horrible mistake. Well, almost at once. Before we married, he was so gentle and kind and thoughtful. But after ...” She sighed heavily. “It was as if I didn’t matter at all!”
Patience sat gaping at her. “Married! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was too ashamed to tell anyone!” cried Pru. “Anyway, it was all a sham. He just wanted to get me into bed. You know what they’re like.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Patience. “Not Roger! He’s from Pennsauken! His father’s a clergyman!”
“I might have known you’d take his side,” Pru said bitterly.
“I’m not taking sides! Tell me what happened.”
“We had a terrible fight on our wedding night,” Pru went on. “Of course, he waited until
after
to show his true colors!”
“What did he do?”
“All I said was he’d have to quit his medical studies now that we were married. I mean, I can’t be a doctor’s wife; I’m an heiress.
He
said he wouldn’t disappoint his parents. He said they’d sold off the back acres just to send him to Europe, whatever that means. But I don’t want to be a doctor’s wife, I told him. Too bad, he said. I want a divorce, I said—you know, quite reasonably, not shouting—you know I never shout. And
that’s
when he told me we weren’t really married. Well, thank God! I said, and I meant it, too.”
“Prudence, if the captain married you, then you
are
married,” Patience told her. “He has that authority when his ship is at sea. I’m sure Roger must know that.”
“But I’m not yet twenty-one,” Pru protested. “I can’t get married without permission from my guardian.”
Patience shook her head. “That is true in England, but you were married on an
American
vessel. American law applies. You only have to be sixteen to marry.”
Pru stared at her. “You mean I’m married to that—that
clodpole
?” she cried.
It took some time to convince Pru, but, finally, the awful truth took hold. “Why, that stinking liar! No wonder he didn’t come to congratulate me on my engagement!”
Patience rose from the bed wearily. “This has been quite a morning! I’m too tired even to think. If you don’t mind, I’ll go to my room now. I want a bath and a hot breakfast, too. You should rest.”
Pru looked at her in astonishment. “What about my letters?” she demanded. “If Roger sees them, he’ll divorce me! Will you come with me to meet Bella?”
“No,” Patience told her. “You already have a cold. I’ll go in your place.”
Pru sighed with relief. “Thank you, Pay.”
Patience kissed her sister’s cheek. “Get some rest.”
Pru was asleep before her sister was out the door.
After she had bathed and eaten, Patience too tried to sleep, but, with one eye on the clock, she could not relax. Noon came and went. Pru slept through lunch. A tray went up to Lord Waverly’s room, and came back out picked clean. Alone in the dining room, Patience picked at her food. By two o’clock, it was plain that Pru had not emerged from Milford’s house completely unscathed; she had developed a nasty cough. Max still had not appeared.
Dr. Wingfield was summoned, but, though he recommended complete bed rest for a day or two, he did not seem unduly concerned about Pru’s condition.
By the time Max finally arrived in Clarges Street the street lamps were being lit outside, and Patience’s nerves were completely frayed.
“You certainly took your time!” she greeted him sharply as he came into the drawing room.
“Well, I’ve had quite a day,” he replied. Ignoring her frown, he kissed her lightly on the mouth. “You’ll be glad to know it’s all been sorted.”
“We’re married?” she said softly.
Max hesitated.
“We’re not married!”
“Of course we’re married,” he said, reaching for her.
“But?” she said, eluding his grasp by neatly stepping behind a chair.
Again, he hesitated. “According to the lawyers, it is not unassailable. Of course, no one will ever dare dispute that we are married—not while I live. But, as my widow, you would not be secure. Our children—if we are so blessed—would not be secure.”
“Oh, God!”
This time she allowed him to take her in his arms. “There is a very simple solution,” he told her. “Tomorrow morning, we marry again—very quietly. No one need ever know we botched it the first time.
I
botched it the first time,” he corrected himself quickly as she glanced up. “My uncle has arranged for the Archbishop of Canterbury to marry us at Sunderland House.”
“I thought we had to be married in a church,” she objected.
He smiled. “Apparently, the archbishop
is
the church. Or, at least, he brings it with him everywhere he goes like a tortoise with his shell. All the lawyers agree it will answer,” he added, “and we can rely on the discretion of his excellency.”
“Well ...” she said. “If you’re sure you want to marry me again ...”
“Quite sure,” he said softly, making her feel warm all over.
“Then I will come to you tomorrow at Sunderland House,” she said.
His arms tightened around her. “You don’t understand,” he said, laughing. “I have come to take you home tonight—now! Mrs. Drabble will sit with you all night to make certain everything is done properly,” he added quickly. “You will not be molested—until tomorrow night. Then, I’m afraid, Mrs. Drabble won’t be able to help you.”
Patience squirmed away, laughing. “But I can’t go with you tonight,” she told him. “Pru has a cold, and it’s not getting any better.”
All traces of humor vanished from his face. “She has come home, then, has she?” he said, with noticeable disdain. “I daresay her friends could not get rid of her soon enough!”
“That is not fair, Max!” Patience said. “You don’t know what she’s been through. She’s had a terrible time!”
“Should I be sorry for her?” he asked dryly.
“Yes!” she answered vehemently. “Lord Milford has been keeping her a prisoner in his house! He has forced her to agree to marry him!”
“Indeed? How did he do that? Dangle his title in front of her nose? She will like being a countess.”
“You don’t understand,” Patience said. “He took away her maid. He took her clothes, her shoes, everything. He starved her! Locked her in a room! She had to escape by climbing out a window. She could have broken her neck!”

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